A Given Value of Safe
by Parlanchina
Summary: Sequel to 'Dreams and False Alarms'. Having been propelled head-first into the magical world, Amelia is beginning to find that her ideas of social equality (or health and safety) don't quite gel with the majority of wizard-kind. She's beginning to see what Hermione means about 'surviving' another year at Hogwarts - but then, no one said any of this was going to be easy...
1. A Welcome Return

_**Well, here it is folks – I know you've been waiting a while, so I hope it lives up to your expectations!**_

Remus Lupin spent the morning cleaning.

It was a stifling day; the skies outside the tiny flat he'd been sharing with his fiancée were moody and dark, casting a gloom over the small Midlands town and sealing in the heat. First, he cleaned the bathroom, mostly because theoretically the presence of water should cool him down a little. It hadn't.

He'd moved onto the main room, dusting Amelia's houseplants and rearranging a few of the many piles of books that the two of them owned – so many, in fact, that they had overflowed from the bookcases that lined the walls and formed stubborn colonies around the room. The contents of these stacks fluctuated regularly, but their size and position rarely changed.

Any space that wasn't occupied by books was taken up by his fiancée's houseplants.

Remus was on much less certain ground with these; he had never been particularly good at gardening, and had only been allowed to water them because Amelia had been away on an excavation for the previous five weeks. He would be greatly relieved when they were no longer his responsibility – he had taken an intense dislike to a cactus Amelia had had since her University days.

Apparently its name was 'Bob', but Remus privately preferred to refer to it as 'that spiky bastard'; apparently the enmity was entirely mutual.

He was on much firmer ground, so to speak, with the miniature allotment that they were keeping on the kitchen windowsill. It had been a Valentine's present to Amelia and Filius Flitwick, one of their colleagues, had taught him a spell that kept the plants inside in top condition.

It probably ought to be pointed out at this juncture that Remus Lupin was a wizard, and a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Britain's premiere (well, only) magical academy. It was there that he had met his fiancée, Amelia Brown, just under a year previously. Amelia had been relatively new to the concept of witchcraft as a profession and Remus had taken her under his wing to some extent.

He really hadn't expected anything to happen between them – things like this generally happened to other people – but happen it had, helped along by the furtive encouragement of their colleagues (and some of their students), and to a greater extent, Amelia's own personal brand of stubbornness.

Putting away the last of his slightly frayed shirts, Remus gave up on the cleaning and went to shave. Shaving quite easily ranked among his least favourite activities, and he put it off for as long as he could. He had flirted with the idea of a beard in his youth, but had been forced to see reason by his old school friends: beards, like shaving, did not work well with facial scarring. He surveyed himself in the mirror, contemplatively.

He really couldn't understand what she saw in an aging werewolf, but Amelia was difficult to argue with. He ran a hand through his hair uncertainly before returning to the living room and selecting a book from one of the drifting piles.

_Still_, he reflected, _things are a good deal better than they were last summer_.

Where a year ago he had been pale and underfed, he was healthy and well-rested; where he had been unemployed and living out of a suitcase in one room of a thoroughly unsavoury hotel, he now had a steady job and a flat. It was really Amelia's, but she had told him not to be stupid when he'd pointed this out to her, so he'd given up arguing, which was simpler. He was also a good deal happier than he had been the previous summer, and Amelia was a very large part of that.

She had wandered into his life, smiled at him in that entirely disarming fashion that she had, and proceeded to turn every single bit of it upside down. And then, at the end of the last school year, he had come face to face with the man he had thought had betrayed his best friends, Lily and James Potter, over a decade previously.

Through a rather convoluted series of events it had transpired that Sirius was, in fact, innocent – all of them having been betrayed by another old friend, Peter Pettigrew.

_Rat-bastard traitor_, thought Remus, bitterly.

With the help of Amelia – and the somewhat less likely help of Severus Snape (Potions Master extraordinaire, and one-time hated enemy) – they had managed to convince the Ministry of Magic of Sirius's innocence, and he had been granted a full pardon. He now lived in a sizable cottage in the Warwickshire countryside, where his beloved godson Harry would periodically visit him. It had been a very reluctant Sirius Black that had agreed to Dumbledore's insistence that Harry should remain at his Aunt and Uncle's house – at least for the time being; something about protective spells, Remus recalled. Harry had been equally unimpressed.

So here he was, one year older, a little wiser and a good deal happier… things were most definitely looking up.

He glanced at the calendar. There was still nearly a month before term would resume at Hogwarts – the pair of them were due to attend a staff meeting in a few days time. He sighed. His next transformation was due in a fortnight… Not that it worried him so much anymore; his new friend Severus was an excellent brewer, and had perfected the production of the Wolfsbane potion. Oh, it still hurt, of course – his body entirely rearranged itself, after all – but with the Wolfsbane potion he could keep his mind.

He was no longer a ravening monster once a month, but a proper wolf, with a human mind. Amelia had told him that he made a cute wolf, and had threatened to start calling him 'Fluffy', when he hadn't accepted that as fact. Remus had given in, and simply opted for calling her weird in return. There weren't many witches or wizards who would have so calmly and completely accepted his condition; he was lucky to work with a few of them, and felt intensely privileged to wake up with his favourite one each morning.

The only downside of the potion was the taste, which was god-awful. Not taking it wasn't an option; not taking it had nearly got Amelia killed a few months previously. Remus tried not to think about it – it tended to make him want to jump off tall buildings. Yet another reminder of why Amelia didn't deserve him…

He shook his head and smiled slightly; if Amelia had heard these particular thoughts she would have smacked him.

Wolf that he was he smelled her scent before he heard her key in the door: an enticing combination of beeswax, flowers, linen and (unusually) soil. This wasn't entirely surprising, given her recent occupation. Amelia might be a bloody good Muggle Studies teacher, but she was first and foremost, an archaeologist.

The door opened as he stood up, laying his book on the sofa. His heart leapt: Amelia was just as beautiful as ever, if a little more tanned; her hair had lightened in the summer sun, causing near-white streaks to appear in her dirty-blonde hair. Her blue eyes sparkled as she abandoned her bags and rushed over to him, putting her arms around his neck, and kissing him fiercely. He suspected that her steel toe-capped boots were the only things that had prevented her from taking a flying leap at him.

When they eventually broke apart, he beamed at her.

"I missed you too," he said, softly, rubbing a thumb against her arm. She grinned back.

Somewhere behind her, someone cleared their throat. Leaning against the door frame was a formidable woman with bright blue dreadlocks and a t-shirt with the name of some angry, Muggle band on it. Her arms were crossed and she was carrying Amelia's sleeping bag over one shoulder; she also looked greatly amused.

"Sorry Lexie," Amelia trilled, and Alex stuck her tongue out at her. He, on the other hand, blushed.

"Er, Hello Alex," he said, embarrassed. "Blue this month – did you get tired of green?"

She shrugged and grinned at him.

"Fancied a change," she said, in her Glaswegian brogue. "We wanted teh do Mel's while we were at it, but she wouldn'ae let us."

Amelia rolled her eyes.

"It's a good job I run a lot faster than you buggers."

"Er – do you want a drink, or something?" Remus asked, remembering his manners.

"No thanks – I've got teh head, actually – have to get teh Gretna by eight or the service station will shut."

She dropped the sleeping bag on the pile of luggage and gave Amelia a tight hug.

"See you in a couple o' weeks, hen!"

She looked at Remus for a moment, came to a decision, and – much to his astonishment – hugged him too.

"You keep her oot o' trouble, eh?"

"Unlikely," Remus chuckled.

"Bye!" she grinned, and turned to go.

"Love to your Mum!" yelled Amelia, as the door shut.

She turned back to Remus and gave him the kind of smile that made his knees go weak.

"Now," she said. "Where were we?"

0o0o0o0

Sometime later, Remus watched his fiancée drying her hair after a much appreciated shower.

"What?" she asked, noticing his attention.

"Just glad to have you back," he said, giving her a small smile. "I was beginning to worry that I'd lost you to a bunch of unwashed students."

"Oy – I was one of them once, and I washed!"

"And there are always exceptions to the rule, I suppose," he chuckled. "I thought we'd order in Chinese for tea – thought it might make a change after a month of dig food."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," she said, playfully. "Although I'll be happy if I never see a cheese sandwich _ever_ again."

Remus made a face.

"That bad?" he asked.

"Well, they tried hard, at least," she allowed.

Having placed their order, they happily settled into one another on the sofa, Remus having rescued his book.

"So, how was it?" he asked. This had been Amelia's first training dig for a while; Alex, Amelia, and their friend Penny had been in charge of the trainees. He had felt rather sorry for the students, when he had heard.

"Same old stuff," she said, expansively. "Lots of soil, lots of people, lots of alcohol. Alex found a mosaic floor though, that was pretty cool – and Penny got to play with the skel's from the cemetery in the next field. I was mostly working on the hypocaust system – it was in really good condition."

Remus smiled: Amelia always got really excited when she was talking about the past. It was rather endearing.

"We took _tons_ of samples, too – I'm glad _I_ won't be sorting them all this time, I can tell you! Nearly lost my eyesight in placement year. Mind you, tesserae are a bit bigger than fish spines, so it might not be too bad. _And_ I found a comb."

"A comb?"

"Yeah, a carved bone one – it was really cool."

Even though he couldn't see her face he could tell she was beaming. The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly.

"I thought you hated the Romans."

"Oh, I do. Bloody Empire builders, leaving Samian ware all over the continent and making the place untidy," she grumbled, good-naturedly.

She could feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest and across his back; she wriggled against him, comfortably.

"Still, a bone comb, eh? Not bad," he teased. "But wait, where were the dinosaurs? No gold? No Woolly Mammoths?"

Amelia hit him.

It was good to be home.

0o0o0o0

It was a mark of how close Amelia was to her cousin Hermione that the girl called around the very next day. They had arranged a 'girly' day, and were meeting Hermione's school friend Ginny Weasley somewhere in town, which was quite a feat given that Ginny was from a wizarding family, most of whom were clueless about navigating around the Muggle world.

Probably a pub, Remus thought.

It seemed that archaeologists seldom communicated outside of taverns. They had a weird affinity for them that was difficult to break, and instantly made themselves at home in them, much to the amusement (and probable annoyance) of a wide variety of landlords.

Remus spent the day with Sirius, reminiscing about old times and helping him to reorganise his cottage. Twelve years in Azkaban, the wizard prison, had left their mark on his old friend: his once handsome face had grown gaunt and pale as time wore on. A few months being mercilessly fed by Amelia and her aunt Beatrice (a formidable woman with an excellent right hook) had begun to bring him back to health. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, this meant that his youthful exuberance was also fast returning.

Although Sirius was, for the most part, confining his bursts of restlessness to decorating his new home, Remus was painfully aware that it couldn't be long before Sirius would be trying to enlist his help in some scheme that would sound excellent at the outset, but would probably end with one or both of them getting arrested.

He returned home that evening with a sense of amused trepidation; it had been too long, really, and if he were honest, he was rather looking forward to it.

It was fairly late in the evening when he got back to the flat, and the girls had reached the depressingly giggly stage. He wasn't certain what they had been discussing before he arrived, but Hermione and Ginny both blushed scarlet when they saw him… he took this as a bad sign.

Amelia left the two girls choosing a film to watch and joined him in the kitchen under the pretence of preparing some popcorn.

"Have a good time at Padfoot's?" she asked, shutting the door to the microwave – a strange Muggle cooking box that Remus generally avoided (it had a few too many apparently random rules governing its use).

"Not bad, moved a lot of furniture," he paused, startled, as the bag in the microwave began to pop and expand. "Sooner or later he's going to get tired of decorating though, and then we're all in trouble."

He was still eyeing the microwave, warily. Amelia chuckled at him.

"I've no doubt," she said, reaching past him for a bowl. "Town was fun, haven't had a proper 'girly' day in ages."

He grinned.

"I can't imagine Alex enjoying clothes shopping."

"Depends on the clothes, really, she's a happy bunny around burlesque dresses and corsetry."

Remus, who had got quite a good mental image of this, flushed and raised his eyebrows. Somewhere behind him, the microwave 'pinged'.

"Does she ever take you?" he managed.

"Sometimes," she tipped the popcorn into a bowl and poured a liberal amount of syrup over it, swearing when she got it over her hands. She _would_ have gone to the sink except that when she turned, she came face to face with Remus, who was wearing that predatory smile of his. Amelia glanced at the kitchen door; the sounds of Ginny and Hermione arguing over which movie to choose filtered through from the living room.

"Rem-" she had been about to tell him off, but he'd started to lick the syrup off her fingers, and her brain ceased its ability to form coherent sentences.

He pressed her gently against the counter and began to alternate nibbling the syrup off her fingers and kissing her sweetly (and, to be honest, rather stickily) on the lips. Aware of how quickly this could get out of hand, particularly with two adolescent witches in the flat, she reached up to push him away, but he pulled her closer.

"Remus…"

He was kissing her neck, now.

"What?" he asked, barely pausing.

"The girls are here…"

"Can't I kiss my fiancée?" he asked, nibbling along her jaw. "You've been away for _so_ long…"

"You can," she said. "When we're no longer in danger of scarring Ginny and Hermione for life…"

"They're busy," he said, softly, nuzzling against her neck.

"Do you want to explain to Molly Weasley why her daughter has gone right off syrup?"

Remus paused, and appeared to think about this; it would almost be worth it. Almost.

"You make a good point," he conceded, handing her a cloth to clean up the rest of the syrup.

He wandered into the living room with a wry smile on his face.

Ginny and Hermione were still busily reading the backs of Amelia's mysterious DVDs; they appeared to have narrowed it down to 'probably something funny', by the looks of it.

"Ladies," he said, as the two girls looked up at him; their hushed tones suggested that the reason choosing a film was taking so long was because they had been confiding in one another.

"Hello Professor," said Ginny. "Have you had a good summer?"

"Not bad, thank you," he smiled, making his way to one of the many bookcases and selecting a book at random. "You can call me Remus, you know, since we're not in school."

The girls broke off into peals of (to his mind) totally uncalled for laughter, and Remus decided to take refuge in the bedroom with his book and two inches of reasonably solid MDF between him and the two sugar-hyped teenagers.

He could still hear them as Amelia joined them and he settled down to read.

It was bizarrely reminiscent of his schooldays.

A warm smile crossed his lips as Amelia's laughter joined the girls'. Despite everything that had happened since he and his old friends had left school – what with war, and death, and betrayal, and loneliness, he was profoundly grateful for whatever it was that had eventually led him to Amelia.

At the end of the previous term, after he had forgotten his potion and fully transformed, he had tried to leave her, believing that he was too dangerous for her. It had nearly killed him to do it, and if Amelia hadn't dragged herself out of the hospital bed that he had put her into and chased him across the grounds of the school, he would have gone through with it. He still woke up, sometimes, sweating and terrified that he had done more than scratch her.

Terrified that one day he still would…

But Amelia was nothing if not stubborn, and she had more than proved to him that whatever he might think about it, he wasn't going to run away from her unless he actually wanted to. The wolf had also had his say, pining and keening for her as she bled and shivered on the ground…

No, he couldn't leave her, even if she would be safer, or better, or happier without him. And she was defiantly of the opinion that she never would be, shooting down every reason, every fact that he could come up with why young, beautiful witches shouldn't fall in love with aging dark creatures, with infallible logic of her own.

He'd given in, after a while, after realising that even if he did run, the wolf would simply run back to her whenever he could.

And he did love her, more than anything… he had gone away and thought about this for a while, while Amelia helped her aunt Beatrice with the apple harvest at her farm, and had come to the conclusion that: when it came right down to it, he didn't want to run away at all.

Upon his return, at a somewhat raucous party up at the farm, she had made him giddily happy by agreeing to marry him. She was very good at making him giddily happy, he reflected, with a wry smile.

Another burst of laughter filtered through from the living room, and he grinned.

One thing was certain: he wouldn't give Amelia Brown up for the world.


	2. Comings and Goings

Probably as a result of years of being a professional nomad, Amelia was something of a 'morning person'. She had woken early from a peaceful sleep, extricated herself from the limbs of her slumbering lover and bounced into the shower. By the time she had finished, Remus, too, was awake, and he blithely watched her bounce around the room, singing along to something Muggle and energetic.

"I should start calling you 'bounce'," he threatened, sleepily, a warm smile playing across his mouth. She turned her bright smile away from 'Bob' the-evil-cactus and onto him.

"In which case, I'll have to start calling you Wolfy McWolferson again*," and the smile turned into an evil grin. "You may have noticed: I have little in the way of shame these days."

"Anything but that!" he chuckled, capitulating happily and pulling her into a sleepy hug. Remus wasn't so much a 'morning person' as a 'mid-day person', but he mostly woke up feeling mellow and cheerful these days.

"Do you want to Floo in or Apparate and walk?" Amelia asked, bustling off towards the kitchen.

Remus eyed her gas fire with slight distaste; while it was technically big enough to Floo, he suspected that getting back would be slightly more problematic.

"Let's walk," he said. "We've got plenty of time, and the wireless said that the weather won't be too bad up there today."

Amelia came back out of the kitchen with a grimace.

"I'll skip breakfast then."

Amelia had learned to Apparate shortly before disappearing off to the trenches and still found it a little disconcerting. She had told Hermione (and the few friends that she counted as family) that it was rather like being turned inside out and back again – a full-body-sneeze, as Penny had dubbed it – and the only recommendations she could make for it were that it was free and over with quickly.

_Not nearly quickly enough_, she mused, as she shoved a notebook and a camera into her bag; the walk from Hogsmeade up to the Castle was beautiful, after all.

Several of her colleagues had remarked (along with her good friends Molly and Arthur Weasley) that it was unusual to find someone living so happily and completely in both the magical and Muggle worlds simultaneously. This didn't bother her particularly; she was, after all, quite an unusual person.

0o0o0o0

Severus Snape was emphatically _not _a 'morning person'. He needed at least an hour to fully wake up of a morning, which, ironically, made him an early riser.

Today however, he had no intention of being awake before ten o'clock; what promised to be an interminable staff meeting didn't start until noon, and he'd been up until four in the morning finishing a particularly good book that Minerva had leant him, along with rather a good bottle of whiskey.

He moved amiably around his gloomy house at Spinner's End, collecting his mind, and picking up the book from where he had left it the evening before. Minerva would be wanting it back.

All too soon he would be leaving this haven of peace behind for another chaotic year at Hogwarts, teaching hordes of faintly ridiculous schoolchildren the fine art of potion brewing.

_Or as much as their feather-stuffed heads can cope with_, he mused.

He did have a few students with talent, and not all of them Slytherin: there had been Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw particularly gifted when it came to brewing. But, alas, she had left the school in the previous year. Duncan Crowe, now entering his fifth year, wasn't appalling, and was beginning to develop something of a flair for it… Then, there was Granger.

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor golden-girl and all-round goody-two-shoes was a competent witch when it came to most things, Severus had recently discovered, only excepting flying and the choosing of friends.

Amelia, who was Hermione's cousin and the closest thing that Severus had had to a best friend in his adult life would have shaken her head and clicked her tongue at him for that, he supposed, but he simply couldn't bring himself to like the Potter boy – he was far too much like his father. And yet…

There _were_ moments when Severus could see his dear Lily shining out – moments when the boy laughed, or helped his friends out of a tight spot… Or, Gods help him, tried to be polite…

Moments, he reflected, best not dwelt upon.

No, they weren't _all_ bad, he thought, pulling himself together as he pulled on his cloak. Though for every Hermione Granger there would always be a Neville Longbottom, whose ability to melt cauldrons had not enamoured him to the Potions Master… or a Seamus Finnegan, who had spent most of his school career bereft of his eyebrows… or a Vincent Crabbe, who had nearly turned Pansy Parkinson's hair a permanent lurid green four months ago… or a Gregory Goyle, who was probably better not left to his own devices…

Severus met the eyes of his reflection in the mirror and smirked: no matter what he said – and even after all these years – he still looked forward to it all.

0o0o0o0

After a pleasant morning's walk through the sunlit forest, Remus and Amelia came upon Filius Flitwick, Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout in the Entrance Hall to the school, having just met up with one another after the long, summer's break.

Filius was bouncing up and down excitedly and telling the women about his sister's daughter, who had just given birth to twin boys.

"Both strapping young things!" he squeaked, happily. "Half my size already! I can't wait to teach them all the things their mother used to drive us mad with," he beamed. "Revenge is sweet."

Pomona gave a hearty guffaw and leaned down to smack the diminutive Professor on the back, nearly knocking clean over.

"Just you wait, she chortled. "They'll try it on you too – mark my words. Then, before you know it, they'll be here, driving us all mad!"

"Pomona, surely you aren't saying that Filius's great-nephews will be as bad as Fred and George Weasley?" Poppy asked, amused.

"Worse!" grinned Pomona. "They'll have been trained by Filius!"

Filius flashed her a wicked grin.

Not for the first time, Amelia wondered whether there was something going on between the two of them. Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout together represented a large part of all mischief perpetrated by the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – though the rest had been known to give them a run for their money. With Filius's Charms prowess and Pomona's expertise at Herbology they could easily bring the school to its knees – usually shaking with laughter.

Poppy Pomfrey, School Matron, was their confidante, offering advice but never taking an active role in their mayhem in case she ended up treating the result.

Spotting Remus and Amelia, she smiled warmly at them.

"And how are our two resident love-birds?" she called, causing Amelia to roll her eyes and Remus to colour slightly. The staff at Hogwarts had once been his teachers, after all.

Since Remus had proposed to Amelia over the summer at a fairly public party that had just reached the appreciably tipsy stage, his colleagues hadn't yet had proper opportunity to take the piss.

"Not bad," he replied, a little self-consciously. "How's your son? Still documenting medieval remedies in Cambridge?"

"Oh, yes, he's having a whale of a time!" she replied, happily. "These college dons are more like wizards than anything else, so he's fitting in nicely – been making friends with some very nice young gentlemen, too," she added, approvingly.

"So," began Pomona, putting an arm around Amelia in a possessive fashion. "Have you decided when to make an honest wizard of him yet?"

"Honestly, Pomona, when have we had time?" said Amelia, a little exasperated. "Between learning to Apparate, digging down in Suffolk and settling Sirius in, I've barely seen him."

Filius had dragged Remus off, presumably to have a similar conversation – it appeared that Pomona and Filius were dividing and conquering again.

"Alright, alright, it's not like we're rushing you," said Pomona.

"We're just happy that you're together," added Poppy. "Besides, if there's the possibility of a wedding, old birds like us tend to get excited."

After quelling Amelia's attempt at denying their age, Pomona asked, almost tentatively: "And how is Sirius doing?"

Pomona had started teaching only two years before the Marauders had left Hogwarts to make something of themselves, and had, along with most of the staff, been extremely relieved to discover Sirius's innocence. They had been equally dismayed to learn of Peter's betrayal, but after the war they had all become very good at concentrating on the positive things in life.

Amelia told them about his cottage, Harry's visits, her Aunt Beatrice's attempts to fatten him up and the dreaded return of his energy.

She was relating the story of how Sirius and Remus had arrived, drunk as badgers** at her flat a couple of days after he had been given his reprieve, when Rubeus Hagrid lumbered cheerfully up the path from his cottage and treated her to a rib-cracking hug.

Laughing, and surreptitiously massaging her bruised ribs, Amelia turned to see Minerva McGonagall strode out of the Great Hall and informed the party that, since it was such a pleasant day, the meeting had been moved outside to the Transfiguration Courtyard, where the House Elves had set out a 'light' lunch.

This, Amelia highly doubted: the House Elves at Hogwarts loved to serve their masters, something that had taken Amelia a while to get her head around. As expected, the 'light' lunch turned out to be something much closer to a small banquet.

There were a few staff members milling around already, filling plates and exchanging pleasantries. Amelia narrowed her eyes and nudged her fiancé in the ribs.

"It is just me, or are there a few too many chairs out?"

Remus nodded thoughtfully. Amelia had a knack for noticing things, and not much went on in Hogwarts went on without its Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, knowing about it. If there were too many chairs, then something was afoot.

"Amelia dear!" cried a hearty wizard propping up one end of the banquet table. "How was your dig?"

Professor Dockrill was everything you would expect of a wizard, tall, stocky, bearded – with a mischievous sense of humour and a bit of a thing for battleaxes. Amelia had studied archaeology at some Muggle university with his brother, and an instant bond had formed between the two. Remus wondered idly whether archaeologists shared some kind of telepathic link… knowing Amelia and her extraordinary friends, it wouldn't surprise him.

As they chatted happily about 'steelies' and trenches and mosaics, Remus surveyed his colleagues. They were much as he remembered them from his schooldays: collectively they were impressive, mildly intimidating and mad as a box of spanners. A few of them, he noted, were also slightly agitated, though whether from anxiety or excitement he couldn't be sure.

Several of the Professors kept glancing at the extra chairs and frowning, as if unable to account for the aberration from normality. But they weren't all oblivious, he observed: Argus Filch had on his moth-eaten tailcoat, and Minerva was keeping a close eye on the archway leading to Dumbledore's office, presumably watching for signs of movement.

Something was most certainly brewing.

"Lupin," acknowledged a cool, calculating voice from behind him. Remus smiled.

"Severus," he greeted, turning to his friend. "How was your summer?"

"Quiet, relaxing, the usual sort of thing." Severus eyed his one-time enemy with a wry smile. "I imagine that yours was more… _eventful_ than you are accustomed to?"

"Somewhat chaotic," Remus agreed, as the two Professors filled their plates. "I'm getting used to it, though."

Severus nodded, giving him something of a sideways glance.

"You realise the two of you are the talk of the Castle?" he asked. "You'll be in for the ribbing of the century from that lot," he nodded at the gaggle of his colleagues that were surrounding Amelia. "Not to mention Minerva and out dear Headmaster – you remember what they were like last year…"

Remus gave him a grim smile.

"I spent part of the summer with Amelia's Aunt Beatrice and a throng of archaeologists. I'll be fine," he said, firmly. "Anyway, a few of them have started asking questions about _your_ private life now… and a particular red-headed friend of Amelia's."

Severus went pale.

Well – _paler_. He was about to deliver a withering reply when their aforementioned Headmaster ambled into the courtyard, followed by some new – but not necessarily welcome – faces.

As one man, Remus and Severus each seized one of Amelia's arms and steered her to seats as far away from the visitors as physically possible.

"Wha-" she began, but she was cut off in stereo.

"Shh!"

She tried to argue, but one look at their identical, stony expressions silenced her: Severus was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles were white. On her other side, Remus appeared to be attempting to disappear into his chair.

_What on earth is going on?_ she wondered, following their gaze.

"If you could all settle down," Dumbledore began, gesturing for the assembled wizardry to be seated. "I trust you've all had restful summers?" he continued over the scraping of chairs and rustling of cloaks. "Good, good. I'd like to welcome several guests to our meeting. You all know Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic," he began. A small but portly wizard removed his lime green bowler hat and smiled warmly around at everyone.

"Barty Crouch," Dumbledore continued, indicating a second gentleman.

This one reminded Amelia of one of her old school teachers: he was upright, tall, neat and elderly. Every line on the man was crisp and straight. She wouldn't have been surprised to discover that he shaved with a ruler. She immediately disliked him, though she couldn't quite think why.

She felt a hot surge of anger from Remus, and not a little fear; she gave him a sideways glance: outwardly, he looked calm and placid, the tight set of his jaw the only clue to the fury within. Amelia wondered whether she would have noticed if she hadn't known him as well as she did. Remus was such a kind, patient man: there were very few things that could have elicited this level of hatred. She rested her hand lightly on his, and he flinched, before glancing in her direction and lacing his fingers between hers. She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze, which he returned, before breaking away.

"Ludo Bagman," the Headmaster went on, gesturing at a middle aged man, who had the look of an athlete who had recently discovered, to his horror, that old age comes with beer bellies and baldness. He grinned at them all, striking Amelia as being much more agreeable than Mr Crouch.

"- and Alastor Moody." Moody was quite possibly the gnarliest man Amelia had ever seen: his face and arms were covered in deep, jagged scars, one of his legs was missing – there was a mechanical leg in its place – and an eye had been replaced with what Amelia could only assume passed for a glass eye in the wizarding world. It was rocketing around at high speed and had a tiny, black pupil set in a sphere of lurid electric blue. It looked rather like it had been bolted into his skull.

This was clearly the man that Severus had issues with; the two men were eyeing one another with an intense dislike that looked as though it might devolve into homicide at any moment. Waves of sickening fear washed over Severus and through her mind.

It was going to be a trying meeting.

"As the senior staff will be aware," Dumbledore was saying. "We've rather an exciting year lined up. After a considerable amount of negotiation, Barty and Ludo have managed to convince Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to join us in a little game of skill."

A couple of the less senior staff sat up at this; clearly something terribly wizardy and interesting was occurring, though Amelia was none the wiser. Even Remus looked suddenly less tense. Some of her confusion must have shown on her face.

"They are other Wizarding schools, Amelia – in Bulgaria and France." Dumbledore half turned to his guests. "Amelia has not been a part of our world for very long gentlemen."

Bagman smiled at her, while Crouch merely raised an eyebrow. Feeling a lot like something that had inadvertently crawled under a particularly popular microscope, she smiled back, embarrassed.

She couldn't help but notice that Moody's magical eye was fixed upon her – even though the other one was apparently still looking at Dumbledore. Increasingly uncomfortable, she squirmed in her seat. Remus touched her hand – it could simply have been an accidental graze, but she knew better – and Moody hadn't failed to notice it. His magical eye returned to its sporadic survey of the courtyard.

"This year will see the return of the Triwizard Tournament – I'm sure someone can fill you in later," he twinkled at Amelia, perhaps sensing her embarrassment, and she smiled back, comforted. This pronouncement created quite a stir amongst the staff.

"As per usual, a champion from each school will be selected – though to comply with more stringent and very sensible health and safety rules these days, only those students who are of age will be able to compete. The Tournament can, as you know, be quite dangerous. Since Hogwarts is hosting the Tournament this year, accommodation will need to be made for visiting students in certain lessons – they are, I believe, managing their own sleeping arrangements. There will also be three tasks to arrange – the basics of which Ludo will fill you all in on in a moment." He peered around at them over the top of his half moon spectacles. "It goes without saying, of course, that hosting this Tournament is a great honour for our school, and I have no doubt that you will all behave to the highest standards of professionalism –" His gaze flicked, just for a moment, to Sybill Trelawny, the resident Seer, who was generally in possession of at least two bottles of cooking sherry at any one time. "– and welcome our guests to our home in the finest traditions of wizarding hospitality. In short, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, and this time he looked rather pointedly at Pomona and Filius, who were doing their best to look innocent. "No playing silly buggers for the duration, do I make myself clear?"

Amelia caught Minerva's eye and hid a smirk.

"Ludo?" Dumbledore asked, and the ageing athlete stood.

The meeting continued for some time, Ludo explaining the three tasks and the various obstacles involved, Minerva explaining what these would mean in terms of work load. She went into great detail over the educational requirements of the visiting students, and all around the courtyard quills scribbled notes.

It all sounded terribly exciting, and yet…

"I don't think I'd be too happy letting Hermione compete," Amelia remarked to Poppy, during a short break. "Seventeen or not… Has anyone actually died during this competition?"

"Oh, loads of people," Martin broke in, cheerfully. "But that was hundreds of years ago. Much safer now." His last few words became indistinct as he resumed chewing his roast beef sandwich.

"On a relative scale," Amelia scoffed. "I hardly think letting a nesting mother dragon loose on a bunch of unsuspecting students could ever be called 'safe'. Or 'responsible', for that matter."

Poppy nodded, sympathetically.

"True, but all sports are dangerous, dear," she said. "Just think of Quidditch – or that rugby game that you were telling me about."

Amelia looked around at her colleagues incredulously; she was definitely in a different world.

"Rugby balls don't have metre-long teeth and claws," she insisted. "And opposing teams don't literally breathe fire! I don't think that the two even _graze_ similarity."

Poppy was about to answer her when a gravelly, matter-of-fact voice interrupted from behind them; they turned to find Alastor Moody surveying them thoughtfully.

"Couldn't agree more," he said. "Damned fool idea, all of this."

Close up, Moody looked like he'd been carved from stone, and not by a particularly skilled mason.

"Putting people in harm's way for the sake of a bloody game," he grumbled; his eye was currently focussed on something behind him – Amelia glanced across to see Dumbledore taking Remus to one side.

"You would be Amelia?" Moody asked, gruffly, bringing her attention back to him.

"Professor Brown," she said, extending a hand. "Muggle Studies."

"Oh yes," said Moody, shaking her proffered hand with the very tips of his fingers, as if he were afraid she might suddenly turn into a manticore. Her mind flared as they touched: the man was all white-hot tension and suspicion; she could tell though, that underneath it all he was a good man. "And how is it you've come so late to magic, Professor Brown?"

His manner suggested that despite the genial setting, this was very much an interrogation. Startled, Amelia stuttered.

"W-well my mother was a bit –" she began, but Poppy cut her off.

"Oh, leave her alone, Alastor," she chided. "He's always suspicious, Amelia, it goes with the profession I'm afraid. He's an ex-Auror. Don't you take any notice." She glared at Moody, who seemed not to have noticed her tone.

"Oh," said Amelia, still feeling somewhat small and out-of-place. "I expect you'll be handling security then?"

Moody looked her up and down.

"To an extent," he growled, and with that, stomped off – his leg clunking erratically – with the apparent intention of harassing Severus.

"Well," said Amelia, flustered.

"Don't mind him," Poppy reassured her. "His heart's in the right place."

"Where does he keep it?" Amelia asked, before she could stop herself. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, going a little pink. "That one was supposed to have stayed a thought…"

Poppy chuckled.

"I've missed your sense of humour dear," she said, fondly, steering her back towards their seats.

0o0o0o0

Remus was quiet on the walk back to Hogsmeade; he appeared to be thinking something over.

Amelia let him be – if there was something that she needed to know, he would tell her.

"Made your mind up about the World Cup?" she asked, hoping to talk him out of his funk.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't think I'll go," he said, giving her a distracted smile. "Not really my thing. Padfoot's still up for it though – are your girls still wanting to go?"

"Yeah. Well, they'd better be," she said, with a grimace. "The amount of forms I had to fill out at the Ministry. Honestly, what does it matter that a couple of archaeologists find out about the magical community? Nobody takes us seriously anyway – and it's not like they're about to hold some sort of anti-magic revolution, or broadcast it across Britain. I mean, who'd believe them?"

Remus chuckled, and Amelia was happy to see the cheerful twinkle was back in his warm, grey eyes.

"Well, _we_ know that," he allowed. "But it's understandable that the Ministry would be apprehensive – as a community we've been underground for nearly five centuries, after all."

They paused by a break in the trees to take in the view.

The Castle was still visible, almost glowing in the golden light of a summer evening. A distant glint provided a suggestion of the Lake in the distance.

"It seems really dangerous, this Triwizard thing," said Amelia, frowning.

Remus rested his head on her shoulder, arms comfortably about her waist.

"They're really pulling out all the stops on the safety side of things," he said, into her hair. "They wouldn't have been able to do it at all, if they hadn't. Ruling out anyone who isn't of age is a good start – anyone who enters should at least be capable."

"Hmm," said Amelia, not particularly convinced.

They stood in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, enjoying the evening light, and one another's company.

"That's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about," said Remus, eventually.

Amelia tried to remember what they had been talking about.

"The varied abilities of Triwizard Tournament contestants?"

"No… and yes, I suppose…"

She waited a few moments for him to continue, and when he didn't, she turned to face him: his face was tight again, and he was frowning deeply.

Amelia's heart plummeted.

"He's not kicking you out?!" she demanded. "Not to save face in front of the other schools!"

"No, nothing like that," he said, and paused. "Well, not as such…" he wasn't meeting her eyes. Amelia sighed and led him over to a handy boulder, deciding to reserve judgement until she had the full story.

"Not as such," she repeated, as they both sat down.

"He made a point of telling me that he definitely wasn't firing me," he said, quietly – and not a little sadly, Amelia was unhappy to note. "Since security is so important he needs to introduce someone that he trusts to the staff – a specialist, of sorts. Not that he doesn't trust the rest of the staff, but he needs someone who's used to spotting things that other people overlook."

"Alastor Moody?" Amelia asked, shrewdly.

"Yes." He glanced at her. "Oh, don't look like that – Mad-Eye's alright once he gets to know you, he's just had to learn not to trust people, and it doesn't come easy to him anymore…"

"How _did_ he lose his eye?"

"Taking down a whole room full of dark wizards during the war. He doesn't like to talk about it," he said, dismissively. "Anyway, Dumbledore wants him to teach some of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes."

Amelia frowned; Remus was an exceptional teacher, and despite his best efforts he'd probably spend the entire year hating the imposition.

"Mostly defence against other wizards – duelling and the like," he continued. "I'll still be doing the dark creatures stuff, and latent curses and such…" he trailed off, frowning.

He didn't like to talk about it, but she knew from Sirius that her fiancé was a duellist to be reckoned with.

"I don't think he wants rid of you," she said, laying a hand on his arm.

"No, I know that," Remus said, taking her hand in his. He looked out across the Forbidden Forest, as if seeing something in the distant hills. Brief pangs of something close to pain flared across her mind as he tried to find an adequate explanation for his mood. "It just… feels like the beginning of the end –" he stopped himself. "I know I'm being pessimistic, but these things seem to follow a certain trend." He sighed. "I love teaching. Particularly here, and particularly with you… I've been happier this year than I have been in nearly a decade. I suppose I'm just afraid that all this happiness will disappear again."

"You know very well that I'm not going anywhere," she said, matter-of-factly. And Dumbledore recognises a damn' good teacher when he meets one – and a damn' good man, for that matter."

Remus nodded, slowly.

"It's not like I know much about personal defence and Auror training anyway," he said, but Amelia dismissed this as modesty. "This partnership with Moody might prove to be great for the students – you know, providing several dimensions of Defence all at once…"

Amelia looked at him, and he met her eyes.

"I suppose I don't really know how to feel about it yet," he said, taking her in.

She smiled at him, fondly.

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know and I'll give you a hug or whatever."

He smiled back, and she felt her cheeks turn a little pink; she hadn't meant to sound quite so saccharine.

"Come on, let's get back," she said. "We can open a bottle of wine, you can patronise me about my inferior Apparation skills, I can read some more Ellis Peters…"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled. "I'll cheer up."

They continued down the path a way in companionable silence, though both of them were still thinking about Remus's sudden change of circumstances.

"Anyway, you're not _that_ bad at Apparation," Remus said, as they reached the tall iron gates that marked the edge of Hogwarts property. "You've even stopped turning green."

0o0o0o0

*See Dreams and False Alarms – it's a long story.

**No really, they get drunk on fermented fruit and have hangovers on my Mum's lawn. It's bizarrely entertaining.


	3. Tantrums and Tenderness

**Chapter 3 – Tantrums and Tenderness**

"… and with all the extra security and publicity, you're going to have to be really careful," Sirius was saying.

Remus was sitting in Sirius's kitchen, waiting for Hermione and Amelia to come back from another girls' day out. Aunty Bea had offered to meet them in town, but none of them would say why. Remus had a horrible suspicion that it was wedding related.

"Fudge and Crouch aren't happy about it," Remus agreed. "But Dumbledore insisted on my staying – they only agreed on the basis that no one in the other schools would ever find out."

"Crouch was there?" Sirius nearly spat his coffee all over the table.

"Yes… he's head of International Magical Co-operation."

"_How_?" Sirius demanded. "He's the least co-operative man I've ever met." He scrubbed at the table with the back of his thumb disconsolately; Remus stayed quiet. "I mean, it's bad enough that he sent me down without trial, but the things he's done for the anti-werewolf movement – what does Amelia have to say about it all?"

"About Crouch? I – er – didn't tell her," he said, uncomfortably, picking at his sleeve. "She couldn't help but have noticed, though, you know what she's like. I suspect she'll grill me about it later… she was a bit distracted yesterday."

"Too distracted to worry about you?" remarked Sirius. "That doesn't sound like her."

"She had a bit of a run-in with Alastor Moody."

"Old Mad-Eye? She'll get over it," Sirius chuckled, cheering up at the image of his two friends squaring up. "He's not the most subtle bloke I've ever met, but then neither is Amelia. I'm sure they'll be getting on like a house on fire in no time."

"Yes, well, just as long as it isn't our house."

0o0o0o0

"So, that young man of yours is still going to be teaching? He's not being gotten rid of?"

"No, nothing like that," Amelia assured her Aunt. "It's just a way of having unobtrusive extra security for the event."

"So you're not worried then?"

"Of course not."

"Then why are you chewing your nails?"

Amelia scowled at Aunty Bea. They were sat in a shop in the Muggle part of town, waiting for Hermione to reappear. Amelia was absently fiddling with a small bandage just below the neck of her shirt and doodling on the corner of a newspaper.

"It just seems like a stupid idea. It's bothering me," she said.

"The Tournament?" Bea asked, glancing at the door.

"Yeah, it's really dangerous. People used to die fairly regularly."

Beatrice's eyebrows disappeared into her fringe.

"And the school governors have agreed to this?"

Amelia sighed.

"Everyone keeps assuring me that it's much safer this year," she began.

"You don't look convinced," Bea observed.

Amelia held her gaze for a few moments.

"It's a given value of safe," she said, finally.

Bea pursed her lips.

"If Hermione was old enough, and she were picked as a champion, would you let her compete?"

"Absolutely not."

"That's what I thought," she considered her niece for a moment. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"If you had the chance, would you enter?"

Amelia thought about this. She had never been particularly sensible when it came to taking risks, which had resulted in a fairly hectic and mobile youth, but still…

"It's not like I have a good track record with avoiding danger," she said, unconsciously brushing the long, thin scars that ran down her shoulder and neck. "But I still wouldn't put my name down, not knowing what the tasks are –"

"What are they?" Bea asked, intrigued. It wasn't often that Amelia considered any risk too great – she was intending to marry a werewolf, after all.

But Amelia shook her head.

"I really can't say," she said, apologetically. "I shouldn't really have mentioned it at all – and not a word to 'Mione."

Beatrice nodded as Hermione walked back into the room.

"Not a word to me about what?" she asked.

"Never you mind, young lady," Amelia teased. "Now, let's see it."

Bridling a little at being treated like a child, Hermione turned around and lifted the hem of her t-shirt. At the base of her back was an intricate butterfly, the skin beneath still pink.

It was something of a tradition amongst the women of Amelia's family and close friends, to have a tattoo done when coming of age. A little more taboo, perhaps, than having a debutant ball or a sweet-sixteen party, but no less elegant.

The designs were always well thought-out – generally because several of the older women had a say in what was or wasn't appropriate – complex, and very personal. When she had turned fourteen, Beatrice had chosen a line of hummingbirds fluttering up her spine, being the keen biologist that she was; Hermione's mother had wanted to study ancient languages (she had maintained the hobby throughout her career), and had had the lines of a poem written in cuneiform across the small of her back.

Amelia's mother, who had always enjoyed botany, had orchids climbing her back; Amelia being Amelia had chosen to combine the 'hot' tribal tattoos that were popular when she was younger, combining celtic knotwork she had come across in her studies and the structure of a serotonin molecule – her two great loves: science and the past. The result was surprisingly delicate. Amelia said that since she had serotonin on her back she always had a little bit of happiness with her wherever she went.

Hermione, naturally, had been planning hers all school year. It comprised a butterfly of many colours atop a background of tendrilly spirals – a nod to the enchanting designs Amelia had once shown her in a book on the Newgrange tomb complex. On closer inspection, both the tendrils and the decoration on the butterfly were made up of tiny script.

"Nice," said Amelia, emphatically; Beatrice nodded approvingly and went to congratulate the artist – an old school friend.

"What's it say?" Amelia asked.

Hermione blushed and turned back to her cousin.

"It's the same as Mum's."

Amelia smiled as Aunty Bea returned.

"Your Dad always loved that poem, too," she told her.

Hermione grinned.

"You won't tell the boys, will you?"

"Don't be silly," said her cousin. "Can I tell Remus?"

Hermione appeared to think about this for a moment.

"Ok, but he's not allowed to tell them either. It's probably not something that Hogwarts particularly condones."

Beatrice rolled her eyes and muttered.

"Public schools."

"State schools are pretty much the same on tattoos," said Amelia, fairly.

Beatrice harrumphed.

"Well, whatever," she said, checking her watch. "Now, I'd call it lunchtime – shall we go to the Vine?" There were noises of assent as the two witches gathered their bags. "Excellent. Then we need to get you your presents Hermione –"

"But I thought that the tattoo was –"

"Nonsense. That's your right as a Bailey. I know Amelia already has something planned –" Hermione looked at her cousin, curious. "So: bookshop?"

The three women grinned at one another.

"And then we need to head to Donna's."

"Why?" asked Amelia, getting a bit of a sinking feeling.

"So that you can look at dresses." Beatrice surveyed her niece's expression. "Alright, so that Donna can measure you and _we_ can look at dresses."

Amelia's face was still thunderous.

"Don't look like that, Amelia," said her Aunt, matter-of-factly. "You're the one that said 'yes' to the man – you're going to have to start thinking about the wedding eventually, and now is as good a time as any."

"Urgh, _fine_," said Amelia, without grace. "But I'm not deciding on anything today." She hurried out of the shop after her Aunt and cousin. "And no pink!"

0o0o0o0

It was a harassed and grumpy Amelia that was deposited at her flat later that evening. Hermione lingered long enough to be given her wrapped birthday present – to be opened at the Burrow – and to smile innocently at Remus's questioning look.

He waited until he could hear her footsteps retreating down the outside stairs before approaching Amelia.

"Erm, so… did you have a good d-"

"They made me wear _pink_."

"Pink?" he repeated, somewhat at a loss.

"Pink. And lemon. And Beige. I mean, _beige_!" Amelia shuddered.

"What were you –"

"Ostensibly, getting Hermione's birthday presents, but I got frogmarched into a dress shop."

"Wedding dresses?" Remus couldn't help the smile that was creeping onto his face – he could well imagine Beatrice and Hermione enjoying torturing Amelia. It was probably a good thing that Amelia couldn't currently see his expression as she nodded.

"Pink wedding dresses?"

"Yes. I looked like a blancmange*. I've never seen so much fabric on one dress in my life!"

Remus quickly schooled his features into and expression of disappointment before she turned back to him.

"What?" she asked, distracted from her annoyance.

"Oh, nothing," he said, innocently, a spark of mischief creeping into the corners of his eyes. "It's just that I've always wanted to marry a blancmange."

For a moment, Amelia teetered on the edge between punching him and laughing; the corners of her mouth twitched upwards to match his.

"Is that so?" she managed.

"Oh yes," Remus continued, as straight-faced as he could. "A childhood ambition, I'm afraid. Sirius and James were always trying to dissuade me – said it could get messy."

"You keep talking and it will do," she threatened, but she was smiling properly now.

"Well, in the absence of a hideous mousse-like dessert, will I do?" she asked, cheekily.

Remus pretended to look her up and down in an appraising fashion.

"I suppose so…" he said, thoughtfully. Amelia went to hit him, but failed as he pulled her into a hug. She smiled into his chest. She didn't know anyone who could make her laugh as much as Remus could, and he always knew when she needed to. He could make anywhere feel like home; he even smelled like home. She winced as he gave her a tight squeeze.

"Ow."

"Ow?"

"Er, yeah," she said, pulling away. "I may have walked into a tattoo shop while I was out."

"What, accidentally?" he asked, amused. "Did you overshoot the chemist or something?"

"Actually, the tattooists was kind of the point of the trip."

"Really?" he asked, intrigued. He was, of course, intimately familiar with Amelia's tattoo, and had been fascinated by it from the moment that he had seen it.

"Yes… Hermione's nearly fifteen – in our family you're considered to be 'of age' for the majority of things at fourteen."

"_Hermione_?" Remus thought about this for a few moments. "Gosh."

"It's tradition."

"What did she get?" he asked, and then thought of something. "Wait – does Beatrice have one?"

"A butterfly, and yes: hummingbirds."

He looked at her for a long moment as she unpacked her new books.

"Your Aunt just got even scarier."

"Wuss."

Amelia wandered into the tiny kitchen, to make some tea. Remus followed her, scratching his chin contemplatively.

"You can't tell Sirius, by the way," said Amelia, over the rattle of the cups. "Or the boys, Hermione made me promise."

"Understood," said Remus, nodding. If they got wind of it, Hermione would never live it down. "A butterfly, you say… I would have thought she would go for something more literary."

Amelia smiled.

"The lines of the design are made of words, actually – her mother's favourite poem."

"I should have known," he chuckled. He regarded her for a moment, leaning against the doorframe. "Mel?"

"What?"

"Why did you say 'ow', if Hermione got the tattoo?"

"I got one too," she said, busying herself with the tea things. He got the impression that she didn't really want to talk to him about it, which was puzzling, at best. Amelia was not a secretive person. She could keep secrets, but she really didn't like to do it.

"Any particular reason why you're being all cryptic?"

"Erm…" Amelia said, uncomfortably. Truthfully, she didn't really know how he would react – she had been worrying about it all afternoon, between being attacked by various shades of satin.

Gently, he turned her away from the kettle.

"Where is it?"

"…"

"It's not something embarrassing, like a Quidditch team, is it?"

"…"

"And I _know_ you wouldn't get a heart with our names in."

"Oh come on, Remus, that's just _tacky_."

"That's what I thought," he smiled. "Well?"

Amelia blushed, and to his surprise, undid the first few buttons on her blouse, gingerly peeling off a gauze bandage.

Remus's expression was unreadable. Amelia bit her lip, very afraid that he hated it.

"So?" she asked, nervously. "What do you think?"

Unconsciously, Remus reached up to trace the lines of the design, but Amelia caught his hand.

"It's still tender," she responded, on his look.

His eyes flicked back to the tattoo.

Where, six months previously, Amelia's shoulder had been unblemished and smooth, four thin scars travelled down from her neck. He had been responsible for these, and though the scars looked neat now, he could remember, quite vividly, the terrible, red gashes that the claws – _his_ claws – had made.

At the end of one of the scars, the one that stopped above her heart, were a few thin tendrils of ivy, interspersed with blue, star-like flowers. Remus couldn't take his eyes of them. Suddenly the scars didn't look nearly as horrific as he remembered. They were almost graceful.

"Ivy?" he managed, frowning deeply.

"For long-lasting-ness and stuff," Amelia replied, inarticulately.

"Oh," he cleared his throat. "And the flowers?"

"Periwinkles, for… for love," she said, quietly.

Remus didn't say anything at all at that. Amelia was getting quite worried.

"Is it ok?" she asked, rather timidly.

"Ok?" he croaked, and she realised that he was trying not to cry. "You're wonderful, you know that? It's – I don't know what to say… It's beautiful, and it – it means a lot."

He pulled her towards him again, much more gingerly this time, and kissed her hair.

"What would I do without you?" he asked, wetly.

Amelia chuckled into his shirt, releasing the breath that she had forgotten she was holding.

"I don't know. Get more sleep?"

0o0o0o0

The day before the World Cup, Alex picked Amelia up and the two of them drove south, collecting old friends as they went. By mid-afternoon, the car was packed with women and camping equipment and as they stopped for supplies at a Muggle supermarket, their party was joined by two bikers: Sirius, and an old friend of Amelia's that he had taken a liking to, Desdemona. One of the party safely stowed in Sirius's sidecar, along with her MP3 player and camera, they set off once more, singing loudly and only occasionally getting lost.

Amelia missed being on the road. Stretching in the front seat of Alex's car and periodically calling out junctions or lane changes from the map in her lap she felt perfectly at home. She was content to listen to the chatter from the backseat, sing along to the radio or drink-in the passing countryside.

_This is most definitely 'the life'_, she thought, finally putting her worries about the Triwizard Tournament (along with anything resembling wedding planning) firmly out of her mind.

They arrived in the early evening, with plenty of time to set up camp. Arthur Weasley had kindly organised the plots – and managed to get them a good deal on tickets – so their camping plots adjoined one another. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione would be joining them the following morning, so they spent a pleasant evening telling stories, reminiscing, and (in Amelia and Sirius's case) explaining the more bizarre arrivals. As they sat and munched on sausages and camp cake**, the campsite grew around them.

The majority of people were clearly _trying_ to dress like Muggles, at the very least – in line with the Ministry's policy of invisibility in the Muggle world – leading to some quite spectacular outfits. It reminded Amelia of attending gothic or folk festivals at her old University, combined with a sort of anarchic church jumble-sale.

Among the throng, rather helplessly trying to keep a lid on things, were a variety of Ministry wizards, all of whom were easily identifiable by their identical, pained expressions.

One of them, having chased a tiny witch on a toy broomstick around in circles for about ten minutes collapsed nearby and was immediately absorbed into the camp circle. He and Sirius had known one another at school, it transpired, and Basil, as he was called, was delighted to have run into his old friend free, pardoned and surrounded by women.

"Not that that's any different than I remember," he grinned, as the assorted ladies laughed. Sirius looked mildly stricken. "You all look the part, I must say."

"Ah," said Amelia. "Well you see, these ladies are all Muggles – they represent what I consider to be my family."

"Are you?" he considered them for a moment. "I'm assuming that you filled in all the relevant forms at the Ministry?"

On Amelia's rather emphatic nod, he chuckled.

"Yes, there are rather a lot of them, aren't there? So," he said, addressing the group at large. "How are we doing? Do we even look vaguely inconspicuous?"

"Well," said Alex, carefully. "The tent with the moat's a bit of a giveaway…"

"Oh yes, that's Elvira Partridge's place," said Basil, glumly. "I pity the wizard who tries to talk her out of a crenulated tent."

"I'm gonna be honest," said Penny, in her strong Kentucky accent. "Some of the clothes aren't too hot, either."

"Yes," agreed Hazel. "I saw a gentleman wearing a big flowery nightgown down by the water pump."

"That would be Archie," Basil sighed. "I had a go at him earlier, but he won't listen."

"And there's a few blokes with a purple fire down that way," put in Emily.

"And the team colours are a bit, well, visible," said Desdemona, helpfully.

Basil looked like he was close to tears.

"The owner keeps cottoning on," he said, miserably. "Keep having to Obliviate him, and he still looks at us all funny."

Desdemona looked very much like she was about to point out that it could be the combination of giant yellow wellies, a kilt and a poncho that Basil was currently wearing that was doing it, but Amelia got there first.

"Why don't you tell him it's a folk festival or something?" she asked, passing him a slice of cake.

"What's one of them, then?" Basil asked, perplexed.

"'Folk' is a kind of music," Amelia began.

"Enjoyed by weird people," Penny finished.

"Oy!"

Both Amelia and Alex threw salad at her.

"The point is," Amelia explained, as Penny picked bits of watercress out of her hair. "Festivals of any kind attract a lot of unusual people – folk festivals in particular – who dress and act strangely."

"Usually because they're off their ti-"

"Nasty cough you've got there, Desi," said Amelia, as Sirius sniggered. "I went to one in Somerset once, and a bunch of men wearing nothing but woad pitched up and chased us around the field – I think they'd been eating some highly suspect mushrooms."

"Woad?" Sirius asked, curious.

"Blue paint made from plant roots."

"So they were naked, basically?"

"And blue – and very hairy, as I recall," said Amelia, to general amusement. "Not an experience I'd like to repeat, it must be said."

"You go to the best parties," Sirius said, grinning.

"Oh honey," said Penny, patting his shoulder. "You need to get out more."

Basil, who had largely ignored the tangent the conversation had inadvertently meandered down, was looking thoughtful.

"Do you think that would work?" he asked.

"I'd buy it," said Alex, helping herself to something fizzy and alcoholic.

"I might just try it – er, thanks for the tea, ladies – Sirius."

"See you tomorrow, Basil?" he asked, as his old friend rose, dusting off his kilt.

"I doubt it, I'm on Portkey duty," his grimaced, and hurried off in the direction of the camp lodge.

"About time we got ready to turn in," said Hazel, stretching. Sirius looked around incredulously as the girls started shifting.

"Already?" he demanded. "Amelia assured me there'd be a night of heavy drinking and misbehaving ahead of us!"

"And there will be," Desdemona assured him. "As soon as we get our jammies on."

"That way, when we pass out, we'll at least be comfy," agreed Emily.

"There may even be debauchery, depending on the games," Alex put in, from inside a tent.

"Games?"

"Ever heard of something called 'I Have Never?'" asked Amelia, grinning wickedly; there were a few groans from within the adjoining tents.

0o0o0o0

*A popular pudding (well, popular with British school dinner ladies, anyway) that wibbles and largely tastes of pink.

**Generally Belgian Fruit Loaf, but insert a cake of your choice


	4. Wizards at Large

_**Apologies in advance for major typos, spelling errors or missing words. I've got some kind of evil sickness bug and it's hard to concentrate. Not missing today's release though!**_

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny complained, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the large table in the Weasley's kitchen.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr Weasley.

Hermione suppressed a groan. As much as she was up for the occasional adventure – and as excited she was about the World Cup – she would much preferred to have driven down the night before with Amelia and got some more sleep.

"Walk?" said Harry, who looked just as tired as she felt. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr Weasley, smiling; Harry looked greatly relieved. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup –"

"George!" said Mrs Weasley, sharply, and they all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "_Accio_!"

Several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakeably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. Hermione had to hand it to them, they could be exceptionally sneaky when they wanted – perhaps not quite sneaky enough on this occasion. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs Weasley managed to find them all.

"_Accio_! _Accio_! _Accio_!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother, as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get any more O. !"

Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry were, as one, shrinking down into their chairs, trying to disappear. What she wouldn't give for Harry's cloak about now…

Hermione stared at her breakfast, trying to ignore the row that was blazing above their heads.

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they made their departure. Mrs Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs Weasley, "and _behave_ yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday," Mrs Weasley said to Mr Weasley, as he, Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Hermione enjoyed the cool, dawn air as they walked, and listened to Harry and Mr Weasley discussing the World Cup up ahead; on either side of her, Ron and Ginny took turns in yawning loudly, and stumbled as they trudged onwards.

They trudged down the dark, dank lane towards the village of Ottery St Catchpole, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they walked, its inky blackness diluting to the deepest blue amid the garish orange street lamps. Hermione's hands and feet were freezing, and she and Ginny were already having trouble keeping up with the longer strides of the boys. She had a strong suspicion that Ginny was having less trouble, but was hanging back with her out of a sense of female solidarity. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch, and Hermione kept going.

To say that she didn't enjoy a good ramble about the countryside would be inaccurate – as long as she could stick to a pace that didn't make the blood in her head pound about her skull.

Nobody had any breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill – which, in Hermione's opinion, should have been called 'Stoatshead Crag', or 'Stoatshead Mountain' – stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Hermione took was sharp in her chest, and it was starting to taste too clean, as though she wasn't quite taking any of it in, which she knew was a bad sign. She clutched at a sharp pain in her side, and was heartily relieved when she saw the others disappear over the lip of the hill in front of her.

Although reluctant to show weakness in front of her much more athletic friends, Hermione's part of the search for the Portkey largely consisted of glaring at the ground and trying to get her breathing back under control. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air, making her fairly jump out of her skin.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr Weasley. "Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

"Hi," he said, looking around at them all.

Hermione smiled and said 'hi' along with the others.

Cedric Diggory was a very cute Hufflepuff seventh-year, who was Captain of his house Quidditch team, and had precipitated a particularly ignominious Gryffindor defeat the previous school year. Evidently, Fred and George, who merely grunted at him, hadn't quite forgiven him for this.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we Ced?"

Hermione winced, inwardly, knowing that if it had been up to her, she simply wouldn't have gone to bed at all.

"I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparation test. Still… not complaining… Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons – and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…" Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the assorted Weasleys and friends. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh, no, only the redheads," said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's," he nodded at her as she gave him a small, embarrassed wave. "And Harry, another friend –"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry _Potter_?"

"Er – yeah," said Harry, clearly quite uncomfortable.

Hermione rolled her eyes as her friend squirmed under Mr Diggory's scrutiny. People could be so unfeeling sometimes… and, really, it was just because they didn't know what Harry was really like – that he really hated the attention.

She let her mind wander as the talk turned to Quidditch, and how, in Mr Diggory's opinion, Cedric was better at it than Harry. While she understood his pride as a parent, she couldn't help feel that he was being a touch rude to keep pressing the point. Even Cedric, who wasn't the sort to show off all the time, looked painfully embarrassed.

"Must be nearly time," said Mr Weasley, putting an end to the well-meaning belittlement and pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off, we'd better get ready…"

He looked around at Harry and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do –"

With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

They all stood up there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. Hermione suppressed a giggle at the thought of a Muggle coming up the hill, seeing the strange spectacle that they made.

"Three…" muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch. "Two… one…"

It happened immediately: Hermione felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. Her feet had left the ground; she could feel Harry and Ginny on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers; they were all speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; her forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling her inexorably onwards, and then –

Her feet slammed into the ground and her legs buckled, sending her to the ground alongside Ginny and the boys.

Winded and disoriented, Hermione looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still standing, though looking rather windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice. Hermione got to her feet, feeling very bruised and put upon; she rubbed her bottom, hoping fervently that Amelia and the girls would have saved her a bacon sandwich and very glad indeed that she hadn't yet eaten.

They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large, gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly; the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. Hermione shared a look with Harry; both of them were trying very hard not to laugh.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Hermione could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil, wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some… we've been here all night… you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite… Weasley… Weasley…" He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr Payne."

"Thanks Basil," said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes of listening to Ron's stomach rumbling beside her, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Hermione could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys, and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Hermione knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres (with the exception of her cousin's friends). When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Mr Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley – two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr Roberts.

Hermione watched the hurried discussion between Mr Weasley and Harry about Muggle currency. Mr Roberts was watching them too, with unabashed interest.

"You foreign?" the man asked, as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," he continued, scrutinising Mr Weasley very closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" asked Mr Weasley, nervously. Hermione noticed, to her mild alarm, that the tips of Mr Weasley's ears were going a bit pink, as Ron's did when he was under pressure, but Mr Roberts was ignoring him, for the moment, rummaging around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"

"Is that right?" said Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts appeared to be lost in thought.

"Aye," he said, thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke wandering about in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" asked Mr Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally," said Mr Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party." Mr Roberts scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "That poncho bloke explained it all though, some sort of daft folk festival." He glanced at Ginny, and added in a confiding tone: "You'll want to watch the kids," he said. "These hippy types get up to all sorts."

"They do?" asked Mr Weasley, greatly perplexed.

"You mark my words," he said, finally hading him his change and a map of the camp. "If there's any trouble you come straight over to Peggy and me," he went on. "I hope they don't start singing sea shanties… they do my nut…"

A wizard in plus fours ambled over.

"Alright, Mr Roberts?" he asked. The man nodded, and watched them as they accompanied the wizard towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted; his chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needed a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy, until someone came up with that cover story about a folk festival – some witch with a Muggle family, Basil said."

Hermione grinned. She had a very shrewd idea about the identity of that particular witch.

"And Ludo Bagman's not helping," the harassed wizard continued. "Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffle at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I though Mr Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports?" said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite. "But Ludo's always been a bit… well… lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary: their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bell-pulls, or weather-vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Hermione could hardly be surprised that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance and making an ungodly racket. A little further on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent which had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial and ornamental fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read 'Weezly'.

Behind their plot Hermione recognised a small array of real Muggle tents. They were largely business-like (though one of them had rather large pink flowers on it, and another bore a sign that had originally read 'Beware of the Leopard'), and an array of battered camp chairs were scattered around a well-managed fire-pit. There were two pairs of feet and several bottles sticking out of the nearest one.

Apparently, the girls had had a good night.

Amelia's tent, which was the one with the sign reading 'Beware of the Leopard' ('Leopard' had been crossed out at some point, and replaced with 'Archaeologist') looked as if the occupants had already been up for some time.

Hermione grinned.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr Weasley, happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said, excitedly. "No magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting up these tents by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggles do it all the time… here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry looked thoroughly bewildered, so Hermione helped them to figure out where most of the pegs and poles went, and though Mr Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly excited about using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess that they belonged to wizards, Hermione thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Harry seemed to have spotted this problem, too; he gave her a worried look as Mr Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in." Come and have a look."

Hermione followed Harry through the tent flap and laughed. _Of course_.

She had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-roomed flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. It smelled a lot like cats, and the variety of crocheted items would have made Amelia cry, but it was homely enough.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk-beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much any more, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it.

"We'll need water…"

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed her inside the tent, and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry and Hermione go and get us some water then –" Mr Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans, "– and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire."

"But we've got an oven," Ron pointed out. "Why can't we just –"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" admonished Mr Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on outdoor fires, I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys, though without the smell of cats, Hermione, Ron and Harry set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around as their fellow campers were starting to wake up.

First to stir were the families with small children; Hermione had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"_How_ many times, Kevin? You _don't touch Daddy's wand_ – yeuch!"

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells – "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way further on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks which rose only high enough for them to skim their toes on the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Hermione, Ron and Harry, he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose –"

Here and there, adult witches and wizards were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though certain that this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long, white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents which read: '_The Salem Witches Institute_'. Hermione caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents that they passed, and though she couldn't understand much of what they were saying, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er – is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those which had their flaps open. Then, from behind, they heard their names.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!"

It was Seamus Finnegan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth-year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning, when they had gone over to say hello. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" said Mrs Finnegan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over _their_ tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing the three of them beadily.

When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents…" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag, red, green and white, was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl. Hermione got the distinct impression that its owner did not relish the attention of the cameras.

"Krum," said Ron, quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Krum!" said Ron, who was continually surprised at her lack of enthusiasm for Quidditch. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"Oh," said Hermione, unimpressed. "He looks really grumpy,"

"'_Really grumpy'_?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young, too. Only just eighteen, or something. He's a genius on a broom, you wait until tonight, you'll see –"

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Hermione, Harry and Ron joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long, flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap, you can't walk around like that, the Muggle on the gate's already getting suspicious –"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear _these_," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze around my privates, thanks."

Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue, and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away again.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told them excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie MacMillan, a Hufflepuff fourth-year that Hermione was friends with, and a little further on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. Ron and Hermione snickered at him as he turned bright red and hurried on.

"You've been ages," said George, when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down.

"So did we," grinned Fred. "Your cousin and her friends don't hold back, do they, Hermione?" He motioned towards the fire-pit, which was undergoing a reshuffle to accommodate more people, and Mr Weasley, who was being swarmed over by five enthusiastic Muggles, all chattering excitedly and trying to explain things about their tents and travel stoves.

"Hi Sirius, where's Amelia?" she asked the older wizard, who was sat in a violently colourful deckchair, wearing a bemused expression and watching proceedings with an air of immense amusement.

"Went off to check on the campsite owner – someone said he might be cottoning on."

"Yes, I wondered if that was her."

Sirius flashed a grin.

"How've you trouble-makers been, anyway? Keeping well Harry? Ron?"

They continued in a similar vein until the fire was lit and Amelia returned. She made a bee-line for Hermione, who had been lurking in the background, and gave her a tight hug, which she returned, happily.

"Thanks for the necklace, Mel, its ace," she said.

"No worries, grasshopper – you hiding from the girls?" she asked, ruffling her hair.

"No," Hermione lied, trying to undo the damage that Amelia had wrought upon her already messy hair.

"Does 'no' mean 'yes'?" her cousin asked, with a wicked grin. "Oy, you lot," she called to her friends. "Look who's all grown up!"

Ron had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing as Hermione was immediately swarmed upon by the girls, with cries of 'Mini-Me!' and 'You little rotter!'.

After another round of introductions they settled down around the fire-pit: Amelia immediately pulled out a puzzle-book, Alex some yarn and a large hook and Sirius (from somewhere) a guitar that had definitely seen better days. The camp was, by now, bustling with life, and there was plenty to watch as they waited for the fire to heat up.


	5. Bagman and the Busybody

Their tents seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the pitch and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Arthur Weasley cordially as they passed. Arthur kept up a running commentary as they went by, mainly for the benefit of the Muggle contingent, who were naturally interested in everything.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… here comes Gilbert Wimple, he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms, he's had those horns for a while now… Hello Arnie!... Arnie Peasgood, he's an Obliviator – member of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, you know… and that's Bode and Croaker… they're Unspeakables…"

"They're what?" Harry asked.

"From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to…"

From the expression on Croaker's face as he hurried past, Amelia decided that she'd rather not know.

At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards them.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy, loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

They were halfway through their plates of sausages when Arthur jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at the man who was striding towards them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Amelia had seen so far, even including the bunch of wizards with their purple fire. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. His outfit clashed horribly with his round faced rosy complexion and short blond hair; he looked more than ever like an overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called, happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet, and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

"Arthur, old man!" he puffed, as he reached the campfire. "What a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in arrangements… not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Amelia tried very hard not to laugh as Percy hurried forwards with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah – yes," said Arthur, sharing a look with Amelia and Sirius, and grinning. "This is my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry – and this is Fred – no, George, sorry – _that's_ Fred – Bill, Charlie, Ron – my daughter, Ginny – and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Bagman did the smallest of double-takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upwards to the scar on Harry's forehead.

Amelia was impressed; she knew how much Harry hated attention.

"And this is Sirius Black," Arthur continued, with barely a pause.

"We've met," said Sirius, warmly, shaking Ludo's hand. "It's been a long time, Ludo."

"Too long, Sirius. Too long."

"And Amelia Brown," Arthur went on.

"Miss Amelia, delighted to meet you again so soon – that business up at the school was endless, wasn't it? Food was something else, though, made me miss school dinners!"

"One of the perks of teaching, Mr Bagman," Amelia smiled.

"Oh, Ludo, please dear lady."

"Steady on now, Ludo, she's spoken for," Sirius chuckled.

Ludo grinned, completely unabashed.

"A pity – all the good ones are taken, eh? And you lovely ladies?"

As Amelia took over the introduction of the girls, he wrung their hands in turn; she suspected that if he got much more excited he would start giving off sparks.

"This is Alex –"

"_Charmed_!"

"– Penny –"

"You're a bright one!"

"– Desdemona –"

"De_ligh_ted!"

"– Emily –"

"Well _hello_ there!"

"– and Bones."

"My dear lady, how _did_ you earn that nickname?"

Behind Arthur, Amelia could see Ginny wince at every new line; Hermione was shaking with laughter, her head in her hands.

"Goodness me, so many beautiful ladies in one encampment!"

Amelia managed, through great strength of will, not to roll her eyes.

"Everyone," Arthur continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets –"

Ludo beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow and black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh… go on, then," said Arthur. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"

"No, ta," said Amelia, and the girls behind her nodded.

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Arthur. "Molly wouldn't like –"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred, as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland win – but Viktor Krum catches the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to be showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that –" Percy hissed, but Ludo didn't seem to think that the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, he, Sirius and the girls roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one as convincing as that in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

Alex leaned over to Amelia and hissed, "Is he Boris Johnson's* more lovable twin?"

Amelia snorted into her mug.

"Boys," said Arthur under his breath, "I don't want you betting… that's all your savings… your mother –"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance… I'll give you excellent odds on that one… we'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…"

Arthur looked on helplessly as Ludo whipped out a notebook and quill, and began jotting down the twins' names.

Taking pity, Amelia leaned over to Arthur.

"Think of it this way," she suggested, in an undertone. "It will be an important life lesson for them."

He nodded, sadly.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Ludo handed him and tucking it away in the front of his robes.

Ludo turned most cheerfully back to Arthur.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively, "all you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look, and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil, sulking furiously.

Recalling Remus's reaction to Crouch, Amelia glanced at Sirius. He had stopped fiddling with his battered guitar and was wearing a very ugly expression. Just who _was_ Crouch?

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Arthur was asking as Ludo settled himself down on the grass beside them all, looking for all the world like a tired, overgrown bumblebee.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office some time in October, thinking it's still July."

Amelia frowned. Even if someone was lost they usually managed to send word back home… if they were still alive.

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Arthur suggested tentatively, as Percy handed Ludo his tea.

Penny leaned over.

"Don't their version of the police look into missing persons?" she asked, in a whisper. Amelia shrugged. She had always assumed that they would… it seemed very odd indeed that it should fall to the head of her department to take action, especially since she had been gone for so long… but perhaps Bertha Jorkins had no family to report her missing.

_Even so,_ she thought. _If the rumours of her disappearance have even reached me then the Auror office should already be all over it._

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Ludo, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment."

Amelia very swiftly came to the conclusion that – although he was a nice sort of man – Ludo Bagman was also a bit of a plank.

"Oh – talk of the devil! Barty!" he cried.

Barty Crouch had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled in the grass in his old Wasp robes. Amelia was aware that the majority of the group was staring at him in mild distaste, and put it down to an innate dislike of authority on the part of most of her friends. There was something unsettling about him though. For reasons that she couldn't quite fathom, he reminded her of Adolf Hitler. There was something about the way he looked at people that made it quite clear that the world in his might was divided into two categories: 'I, who am just and true,' and 'everyone else'. Confused and annoyed at the connection that had provided the thought, she mentally sat on it.

_Perhaps I'm just reading too much into Remus and Sirius's reactions,_ she thought. _But still… it takes a lot of hard work for both of them to dislike someone so intensely._

In honour of the occasion, Crouch had abandoned his smart wizard's robes for an impeccably crisp suit and tie. Amelia was not at all surprised that he looked the part. He resembled a gentrified farmer so strongly that she was almost startled not to see him holding a shotgun over one arm and being followed by half a dozen loyal hounds.

Rather unkindly, her mind supplied:

_Well, except for Percy_.

The boy was bobbing up and down in much the same way that Hermione did when she knew the answer to a question in class. Amelia stared at him, wondering how in hell he had come to be so very much of a suck-up in such a short time.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting the grass beside him.

"No, thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting that we add twelve more seats to the Top Box."

"Oh, is _that_ what they're after?" said Ludo. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr Crouch!" said Percy, breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Amelia and her friends stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

Beside her, she heard Hazel hiss: "Not who _I'd_ have chosen for a bit of hero-worship."

"Oh," said Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes – thank you, Weatherby."

Fred and George choked into their own cups as Amelia winced. Percy, very pink about the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur," said Mr Crouch, his sharp eyes falling on him. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Arthur heaved a deep sigh as a couple of the girls exchange wondering looks.

"I sent him an owl about that just last week," said Arthur, wearily. "If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artefact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," said Crouch, with more sympathy than Amelia had thought him capable of. "He's desperate to export here." He accepted a cup of tea from Percy with a curt nod.

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Ludo, confidently.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve – but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman, breezily ignoring the older man's tone.

"Fairly," said Mr Crouch, drily. "Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is all over," said Arthur.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

"Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun… still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, eh?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the man's total lack of subtlety, Amelia constructed a frown.

"I thought that was need-to-know, Ludo," she interjected, pointedly, before the man got carried away by his own excitement. She could feel the eyes of the children flicking between her and the other wizarding adults.

"Indeed it is," said Crouch. "Miss Brown, wasn't it?"

"That's right sir," she said politely, disliking the sudden attention. Beside her, Sirius began to growl, very quietly. Reaching for her cup of tea she accidentally elbowed his leg, and the noise stopped.

"Are you looking forward to the match?"

"Yes sir."

"All this is 'new and exciting' to you, as I recall," he commented, effortlessly pronouncing the quotation marks.

"It is," she said, abruptly, not feeling the need to embellish.

"I can't say I approve of so many Muggles attending our events," he looked around at Amelia's surrogate family, all of whom were keeping their faces carefully blank. "Yes," he continued, noticing Amelia's questioning look. "I recalled your name on the application for tickets after we met and looked you up." He paused, and without actually looking directly at Sirius said, very precisely: "You keep the most interesting company, Miss Brown."

Amelia felt the temperature drop, abruptly; very slightly, she raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. Whatever reaction it was Crouch was looking for, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of his having elicited it.

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr Crouch sharply, when Amelia didn't react. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet again, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!" He waved, Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"Well," said Percy, sniffily, looking as though he'd quite like to say something to Amelia.

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.

"What was all that about?" asked Alex in an undertone as they cleared away.

"No idea."

Amelia watched Sirius as he walked back to his tent, shoulders hunched. Following him, she laid a hand on his arm.

"Padfoot?"

He started at the use of his old nickname, but half-turned to her and smiled a little.

"It's nothing love, just –"

Amelia gave him a Look.

"Remus spent the whole meeting at Hogwarts growling at him, I tried to shake his hand when he left and he wouldn't touch me – it was like I had some kind of disease. He looked my family up in his records. Who is he, and why doesn't he like me?"

Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as the night when they had met – the night when Amelia had thought that he was about to murder four people.

"He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban – without a trial."

"_What_?" demanded Amelia, stunned at this flagrant disregard for human rights.

"He used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Sirius continued, as Amelia continued to stare at him, horrified. "He was tipped as the next Minister for Magic. He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch," Sirius said, bitterly. "Powerfully magical – and power-hungry. Oh, never a Voldemort supporter," he said, correctly interpreting her deepening frown. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark side… and Dark creatures. But then a lot of people who were against the dark side were, well, frightened. It was awful… everyone scared of strangers, friends – not knowing who to trust… well, you know what happened to us," he said sadly. Amelia shifted uncomfortably.

"It was a dark time," Sirius continued. "Well, times like that bring out the best in some people, and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers – to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one that was handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects."

"Like a witch hunt," said Amelia, morosely. "Evil begets evil, torture provides confessions and then where do you end up?"

Sirius nodded, unhappily.

"I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark side. He had his supporters, mind you – plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister for Magic."

"We Muggles had someone like that a while back," Amelia muttered. "He had his supporters too… murdered thousands of people when he came to power, just because they didn't fit with his concept of world order. He even has the same moustache… sorry, do go on."

"When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time before Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened…" Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"His own son?" Amelia echoed, not liking where this was going.

"Yes," said Sirius, scowling. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while… got to know his own son."

"Was he one of them?" Amelia asked. "You know, a Death Eater?" It had always struck her as the kind of phrase that a group of boys who were being 'cool' might choose as a nickname**; as such, she found it difficult to take seriously.

"No idea," said Sirius, fiddling with one of the ropes on his tent. "I was in Azkaban myself when he got brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was caught in the company of people who were _definitely_ Death Eaters – but he might have just been in the wrong place in the wrong time. Crouch didn't give anyone the chance to find out."

"He didn't even give his own son a trial?" Amelia asked, aghast. Somehow this was worse than what he'd done to Sirius, despite the lack of evidence.

"It wasn't much of one, by any account," he said, looking uncharacteristically ugly. "I remember him being brought in, kicking and screaming all the way along the path until they got him inside. Then he sort of went all limp – I don't know, maybe he just passed out..."

He was silent for a few moments, reliving the horror of it all. Amelia watched him, carefully, not really knowing how to comfort him.

"They took him to a cell near mine – I watched them through the bars," Sirius said, in a voice that suggested he could still see it. "Couldn't have been more than nineteen… he was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though… they all went quiet in the end… except when they screamed in their sleep."

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them. Amelia touched his arm again and he came back to himself.

"You didn't go quiet, Sirius, I don't believe that for a second."

He flashed her the ghost of a smile; it was gone in moments, replaced by that same darkness.

"He died in there, that boy – abandoned by his father…" his knuckles were white around the guy ropes now. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to survive."

Amelia, who had spent the last year in a school surrounded by Dementors, could well believe it; she suppressed a shudder.

"You could always tell when a death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterwards. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress, I watched them do it."

Amelia followed Sirius's far-away gaze across the campsite. Although she had little sympathy for people like Crouch, she suspected that he must have had a damned good reason for being so unfeeling. It _couldn't_ just have been the scandal… it must have been something more definite. Throwing someone with a smoking wand (so to speak) into Azkaban without trial was one thing (however innocent he later turned out to be) – over-zealous law-men were everywhere – but in her experience it took a lot to sever the bonds of family, particularly in the wizarding world.

She hadn't been very deeply involved in the forensic side of archaeology at her university, but she'd seen enough to know that the defendants whose families didn't turn up for were usually the ones who had done something so obvious and horrific that even their parents couldn't forgive them.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he though he had it made," Sirius was saying, unfeelingly. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister for Magic… next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards him, and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-operation."

There was a long silence. The happy bustle of the campsite suddenly seemed very far away.

"So you see," said Sirius, heavily. "He's not a man I'd easily trust."

Amelia fiddled with the 'Beware of the Archaeologist' sign that had fallen off her tent and stared off across the wizard-filled field.

"Things seemed an awful lot simpler in my old life," she mused. "Just stories on the news – all of them far away and not involving anyone I knew – well," she qualified. "Except for when I was at University, but violence was so random there that anyone was fair game… Everything here seems so much more _concentrated_ – I suppose because the Wizarding community is quite tightly-knit… or perhaps because of who I hang around with. It's not like any of you shy away from danger."

"Not having second thoughts?" Sirius asked, tentatively.

"Second thoughts?"

"About R- about our world…" he winced at his slip, but she smiled. He was only looking out for his friend, after all.

"Not about Remus," she said, firmly.

Sirius grinned sheepishly.

"Just checking."

"It's just – my world can be dangerous, I know it can, but you learn the rules – here the rules seem so very different – bordering on completely mental at times."

"If it helps, I've never figured them out," said Sirius, and Amelia gave him a wry smile. Somewhere behind them one of the twins gave a shout of laughter; Amelia shook herself.

"Let's forget it for today, eh?" she said. "Don't want to bring anyone down."

Sirius nodded.

"It's not all doom and gloom: I'm free, the kids are safe –"

"As safe as any kids their age are, at any rate," Amelia interjected.

"– the World Cup's on and there's even a wedding in the near future. Life is good."

"At some point," said Amelia, grinning back.

"Not set a date then?" he asked innocently.

Amelia smacked his arm.

"Oh, not you too!" she said. "I seem to be being asked every other day at the moment."

"Your aunt, I'm assuming?"

"And Pomona," she nodded, wearily. "Bea and Hermione tried to take me dress shopping the other day as well. They made me wear _pink_…"

She tried not to grin at Sirius's expression.

0o0o0o0

*Google him and you'll know what I mean.

**Like certain other groups of boys we could mention… *cough* _Marauders_ *cough*


	6. The Quidditch World Cup

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable, and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes – green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria – which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries which played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts, which really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

Amelia and the girls – who had divided a variety of wizarding currency between them – ambled through the ranks of tat purveyors and tried not to look too surprised or appalled at the wide variety of dancing figures and singing clothing.

Amelia initially contented herself with a singing clover hat and a programme for Remus, but couldn't resist a pair of Omniocculars – and nor could any of the others. She strongly suspected that there would be more than a few of these new toys shut in drawers or shoved under sofa cushions when their owners got sick of the whining.

They were joined back at the tents by Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were similarly attired in dancing green foliage, along with Bill, Charlie and Ginny. They were sporting green rosettes, too, and Arthur was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs, having given all their money to Ludo, but Sirius was wearing his flag like a cape and grinning broadly.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

"It's time!" said Arthur, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

Clutching their purchases, Arthur in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was infectious; none of them could stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side, and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. They stood for a moment, staring up at the immense gold walls in stunned excitement.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Arthur, noticing their awestruck expressions. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle-Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got near it all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… Bless them – present company excepted, of course," he added, to a chorus of smiles. He led the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance, when she checked their tickets. "Top box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clamboured upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. The party kept climbing, more slowly as they got more and more out of puff. They eventually reached the top of the staircase, more than a few of the girls grumbling about the lack of things like magical lifts, and found themselves in a large box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the goalposts. About forty purple and gilt chairs stood in four rows here, and Amelia, filing into the front seats between Sirius and the girls, looked down upon a scene the like of which she could never have imagined. Ignoring the accompanying jolt of vertigo, she leaned over the rail.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light that seemed to come from the stadium itself. The pitch looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand was scrawling upon it and then wiping it off again, advertising all manner of magical products. Sponsors, Amelia realised, for the stadium, the teams and the match itself.

_The Bluebottle: A Broom For All The Family – safe, reliable and with In-Built Anti-Burglar Buzzer… Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!... Gladrags Wizardwear – London, Paris, Hogsmeade…_

She glanced at her friends, who looked like they didn't know what to stare at first.

Harry was deep in conversation with a House-Elf that was sat on its own at the end of the row, which sparked an immediate and hurried discussion on the nature, culture and skeletal structure of such creatures amongst the women to her right.

A few seats away, Hermione was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled programme.

"A display from the team mascots will precede the match," she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Arthur. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

Amelia and Sirius spent a happy twenty minutes discussing what this might entail as the box filled up gradually around them. Arthur kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked like he was trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Amelia, who had briefly entertained the wicked urge to kick him in the rump, hid a smile as, highly embarrassed, he repaired them and sat sulking in his seat, shooting dirty looks at Harry, who greeted the Minister as an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.

Penny tapped Amelia on the arm as the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, who had just spotted Harry's scar, babbled excitedly.

"I feel we're missing something here," she hissed. "Why is everyone so excited to see Harry – is he in some kind of wizard boy band or something?"

Snorting at the image, Amelia filled her in on the uncomfortable truth of Harry's fame, and turned back to the Minister as a storm of shocked whispering erupted beside her.

"Ah, Miss Brown, good to see you again so soon," he said, spotting her. "And – er – Mr Black…"

Amelia and Sirius shared a grin as Fudge turned away. Sirius's twelve year incarceration and subsequent pardon had been something of an embarrassment for the Ministry, and it had been Amelia's testimony as a Reader that had, in the end, cleared him.

"Ah, and here's Lucius!" said Fudge, clearly on more comfortable ground.

Amelia saw Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny turn around quickly. She glanced behind her to see Draco Malfoy, a pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, edging towards his seat. He greatly resembled his father – presumably Lucius – and his mother was tall, blonde and haughty looking. They made quite the family group.

_So those are Draco's parents,_ Amelia thought, as the social temperature of the box dropped significantly. _No wonder he's a little toad._

The animosity between her cousin's friends and Draco Malfoy was well-known, especially since he tended to think of everyone else as beneath him – particularly the Weasleys, and particularly Amelia's own shabby professor. It looked as though his elevated opinion of himself had been lovingly fostered by his parents, who were also looking around them with looks of intense distaste.

Amelia's colleagues had told her that the Malfoys had been big supporters of Voldemort, back in the day, and had claimed to have been coerced following the war. Looking at them, Amelia rather doubted it.

A couple of the girls turned in their seats to see why everyone had suddenly gone so quiet, but Amelia kicked Penny in the shins and the message was (as it were) passed on. The last thing they needed was a scene – the Malfoys being who they were, and the ladies being who _they_ were, this would be very nearly unavoidable.

"Ah, Fudge," said Lucius Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister for Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

Beside Amelia, Penny shifted, probably as a response to the man's oily tone.

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Narcissa Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying, anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Arthur and Malfoy the Elder looked at each other and Amelia remembered Hermione's enthusiastic description of the fight that had taken place between them the last time they had met. The man's cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

"I didn't realise you were an estate agent," Amelia found herself saying, just as softly. "Arthur, you should have introduced me – you know I'm looking for a new cottage."

Three pairs of cold, grey eyes turned to her, and she smiled politely, knowing that he couldn't draw attention to her comment any more than Arthur could have retorted to his earlier slight with the Minister in such close proximity. She got the impression that Arthur was trying quite hard not to laugh.

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a _very_ generous donation to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How – how nice," said Arthur, with a very strained smile.

Malfoy the Elder's eyes swept up the row of clearly Muggle spectators and lighted once more on Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Amelia could guess what was making the foul old git's lip curl – particularly if his son's sentiments were anything to go by. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione and her cousin, second-class.

Amelia tightened her grip on the edge of her programme, determined not to cause trouble for Arthur. Penny, who had picked up on the tension, laid a steadying hand on her arm.

Fortunately for him, under the gaze of the Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley, and continued down the line to his seats. Amelia watched Draco shoot Harry, Ron and Hermione one contemptuous look, before settling himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," she heard Ron mutter, as he, Harry and Hermione turned to face the pitch again.

Amelia, who would have used considerably stronger language, leaned over Sirius and whispered to Arthur:

"At least we don't have to _buy_ our friends."

He flashed her a brief grin and relaxed slightly as Ludo Bagman charged into the box behind them.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister – ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge, comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat and said _'Sonorus!'_ and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands: "Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped – even Amelia and the girls, swept up by the general excitement. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (_Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans – a Risk with Every Mouthful!_) and now showed BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought?" said Arthur, leaning forwards in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "_Veela!_"

"What are Veel-?" Harry began, but he fell silent as a hundred Veela were now gliding out onto the pitch. Veela were women, very beautiful women; a fact that had apparently occurred to every male within Amelia's line of sight.

Down on the pitch, the Veela had started to dance, and all around her men (and some of the women) were wearing glazed, happy expressions. Some of them, like Arthur, seemed to understand what was happening to them; their smiles were more like smirks – enjoying the general effect but reasonably immune to it – and they alone remained sitting. Harry, Sirius and the Weasley boys were all on their feet in attitudes of intense concentration. Even the Minister of Magic seemed enthralled; behind her, Lucius and Draco Malfoy were slowly rising to their feet, puffing out their chests.

For a moment, Amelia met Narcissa Malfoy's eyes and shared a look of mutual incomprehension.

She turned back as the Veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started flying through Amelia's brain, as though the men around her were no longer in control of their own minds. Beside her, Sirius was flexing his muscles, giving the ladies on the pitch a blinding smile that must – in his youth – have been the root of his rather tarnished reputation, and generally looking Marauderish. At the end of the row, the Weasley twins were holding onto the wall of the box, poised to leap – Emily and Bones had fistfuls of the boys' shirts in their hands, expressions of horror on their faces.

Abruptly and – to Amelia's mind – fortunately, the music stopped.

"What _are_ you doing?" said Hermione.

Amelia glanced along the row: Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he was about to dive off a springboard; next to him, Harry was resting one leg on the wall of the box.

Behind them, Amelia could hear Narcissa Malfoy hissing angrily at her husband and son. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go. She pulled an irritable Sirius back into his seat.

All around the stadium, men were removing shamrocks from about their persons while various female relatives shouted at them. Nearby, Ron was absent-mindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Arthur, smiling slightly, leant over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," Amelia heard him say, over Sirius's protests, "once Ireland have had their say."

Amelia elbowed Sirius in the stomach hard enough to get his attention, glad that someone had thought to put the Veela on first. He rubbed his belly, irritably, and pouted at her.

Further along, Hermione made a loud tutting noise and pulled Harry back into his seat. "_Honestly_!" she said. On the other side of the girls, Percy and the twins were looking distinctly sheepish, their elder brothers sniggering at them as they helped them down from the rail and recovered Percy's glasses from under one of the stands.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green and gold comet had come zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd 'oooohed' and 'aaaaahed', as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it –

"Excellent!" yelled Ron, as the shamrock soared over their heads, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Rubbing her head and squinting up at the shamrock, Amelia realised that it was actually composed of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red waistcoats, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" cried Arthur, over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"What I want to know," Sirius, who appeared to have recovered from the Veela, hissed into her ear, "is how they got them to agree to do that."

"Maybe Leprechauns like Quidditch, too," Amelia shouted back, over the chaos. Sirius grinned at her, and she knew she'd been forgiven.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the pitch on the opposite side from the Veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand – _Krum_!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum on his Omniocculars; Amelia quickly focussed her own.

Victor Krum was thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an over-grown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen. His focus was incredible.

"And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand – _Lynch_!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the pitch; Amelia spun a small dial on her Omniocculars, and slowed the players down enough to read the word 'Firebolt' on each of their brooms, and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"These are cool," she muttered to herself.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with an enormous moustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Amelia spun the speed dial on her Omniocculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broom and kicked the crate open – four balls burst into the air; the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and (Amelia saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the miniscule, winged, Golden Snitch. With a blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman, so excited that Amelia was momentarily worried that he'd pitch headfirst off the stands and into the screaming crowd below. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Morgan! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as Amelia had never seen it played before. She was swinging her Omniocculars about so fast she was having trouble focussing on the action. The speed of the players was incredible – the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to each other so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

She followed the frantic action below her for a few moments before –

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. Amelia and her girls were on their feet with the rest, dancing up and down and waving their arms around while Troy did a lap of honour over the pitch. She watched delightedly as the leprechauns watching from the side-lines rose into the air and formed the great glittering shamrock once more. Across the pitch the Veela were watching them sulkily.

She knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team; appearing to read each other's minds by the way they positioned themselves. Within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero, and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks, dodge their Keeper, Ryan, and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Arthur bellowed, as the Veela started to dance in celebration. Fortunately, the men around them obeyed, and no serious casualties were incurred.

Bulgaria lost no time in regaining possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh I say!" roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand witches and wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as thought they had just jumped from aeroplanes without parachutes. Amelia followed their descent through his Omniocculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was –

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed, from somewhere on Amelia's left.

She was half-right – at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiralled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool," moaned Arthur. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time out!" yelled Bagman's voice. "As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be ok, he only got ploughed," Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…"

"Sneaky bastard," said Amelia, unable to help the trace of approval slipping into her voice.

She had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that it looked as though he was unsupported and weightless. He was circling high above Lynch, who was now being revived by medi-wizards with cups of potion. Amelia focussed more closely on Krum's face; his dark eyes were darting all over the stadium. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look of the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart – and the time out had given them time to regroup. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivalled by anything Amelia had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game – in fine Quidditch tradition – was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot towards the goalposts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Amelia didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast told her it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing – excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And – yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words '_HA HA HA!_'. The Veela on the other side of the pitch leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily and started to dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys, Harry and Sirius stuffed their fingers into their ears. Amelia burst out laughing as Hassan Mostafa landed gracefully on the pitch in front of the dancing Veela and flexed his muscles.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo, amused, as Mostafa stroked his moustache and strutted about on the pitch. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A medi-wizard came tearing across the pitch, his fingers stuffed in his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard on the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself as the medi-wizard fled the pitch; Amelia, watching through the Omniocculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed, and was shouting at the Veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking increasingly mutinous.

"And unless I'm very much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now _there's _something we haven't seen before… oh, this could turn nasty…"

It did: the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, had landed either side of Mostafa, and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating towards the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words '_HEE HEE HEE_'. Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"_Two_ penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms… yes… there they go… and Troy takes the Quaffle…"

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human, as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"_Foul!_" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran – deliberately flying to collide there – and it's got to be another penalty – yes there's the whistle!"

"Serves you bloody right!" Sirius yelled, beside her.

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed across the pitch towards the Veela, which made Amelia snorted with laughter and the Veela lose control. They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns.

"Some decorum on the pitch, come on now!" Amelia shouted, mostly in surprise.

Watching through her Omniocculars, she saw their faces twist and lengthen in rage, contorting into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders –

"And _that_, boys," yelled Arthur, over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Amelia had to agree as the Veela screeched and screamed.

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the mascots, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one above. Amelia turned this way and that, staring through her Omniocculars, as the Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet –

"Levski – Dimitrov – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely audible – even in the Top Box – over the shrieks of the Veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. Amelia glanced down at the chaos, mildly appalled and extremely glad that none of the Hogwarts matches had ever devolved into this level of brutality. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov –

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible towards Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him hard in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Amelia couldn't blame him; one of the Veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broomtail alight.

"Come on ref'!" Sirius yelled, from Amelia's left. "He can't play like that! Eyes on the game!"

"His broomstick _is_ on fire," Amelia shouted, conversationally, over the crowd.

"That's no excuse!"

"_Look at Lynch!_" Harry yelled.

The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, plunging at high speed towards a tiny shining speck, several hundred feet below him.

Half the crowd seemed to have realised what was happening, the Irish supporters rose in a great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on… but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Amelia had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now, as the pair of them hurtled to the ground again –

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron and Sirius in chorus.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

And he was right – for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force, and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realised what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet was revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WIN!" shouted Bagman, who, like the Irish, seemed to have been taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WIN – good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"Fred and George were," Sirius shouted to Amelia, as the entire row of girls jumped and cheered. "Ludo's in for a bit of a shock."

Amelia grinned, peering over the rail to the busy pitch below. It was difficult to see what was happening, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the pitch, but she could just make out Krum, surrounded by medi-wizards. He looked seriously pissed off and was refusing to let them near him. Amelia rather felt for him. His team-mates were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the Veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

Amelia was more worried about Lynch; no matter how skilled the medi-wizards were (and having met Poppy Pomfrey, Amelia had a lot of faith in them) Lynch was going to be in St Mungo's for a very long time.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Amelia. She looked around in surprise; it was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian Minister, shrugging.

Almost the whole row of girls burst out laughing; he offered them a rakish grin.

"And as the Irish perform a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

Amelia's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting towards the entrance, she saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box; surely they hadn't carried it all the way up through the stands… The exhausted looking wizards handed the cup to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below were applauding appreciatively; Amelia could see thousands and thousands of Omnioccular lenses flashing and winking in their direction. The girls – who had never seen a Quidditch match before – were shouting up a storm for the Bulgarian team; a few of them blinked at them in mild surprise.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats into the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own Minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. He seemed to Amelia, to be much less co-ordinated on the ground, like a duck out of water. Clearly this was a young man who was built for the air.

When Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, ear-splitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked unfocussed. Despite the probable concussion, he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered their approval. Amelia's hands were numb with clapping, her voice hoarse from cheering.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered _'Quietus_'.

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said, hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn't have lasted longer… ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the back of their seats, and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

Amelia turned away, though not quickly enough to miss Sirius's wink.

_So much for learning a valuable lesson_, she thought.


	7. Fools Rush In

"That was bloody brilliant!" said Alex as they slowly made their way down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"I couldn't even see them half the time!"

"That Lynch guy was in real trouble by the end – I mean, I've seen football injuries that would make grown men squirm, but _that_ –"

"Violent, isn't it?" said Hazel. "I'd love to see the pathologies on those bones…"

"Think Harry could play professionally, one day?" Amelia asked Sirius as the conversation behind them dissolved into osteology.

"Maybe – I saw him a couple of times last year. He was pretty good…" They paused to let a family with three very small children pass them on the stairs. "But there's always the local amateur teams if he ends up doing something else."

"I can't imagine him ever giving it up – I've never seen anyone so happy in the air."

Sirius grinned, proudly, "Just like his Dad."

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back towards the campsites. Raucous singing was borne towards them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.

When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, so they joined the Weasleys and Harry in their tent for some cocoa (and a nip of something stronger for the adults). They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Arthur got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Arthur called a halt to the verbal replays, and insisted that everyone went to bed.

Amelia gave Hermione a cousinly shoulder hug as they headed back to their tents. As they settled in they could still hear singing from the other end of the campsite, and the odd, echoing bang.

For a seasoned archaeologist, the noise and atmosphere made for perfect sleeping conditions, and Amelia was soon drifting off to sleep amid a chorus of contented snores.

As has previously been mentioned, Amelia Brown was quite an unusual witch, so it will come as no surprise to you, dear readers, to discover that she had only been asleep for around half an hour before she awoke, quite suddenly. Nothing was different, per se; the noises outside the tent were the same: distant revelry on a warm night full of slumbering wizards.

Bones was still cocooned perfectly happily in her sleeping bag; she could hear Sirius snoring loudly in the tent next door. There was nothing, in fact, to be worried about.

Amelia pulled out her wand and struggled out of her sleeping bag, managing, by some miracle, not to wake Bones as she slipped outside.

The faint glow of fading campfire coloured the darkness as she crouched between the tents, pulling on her boots. She stood and closed her eyes, trying to identify the source of her sudden disquiet. Concentrating on her breathing, all other sounds faded: soon there was only her and the stars – even with her eyes tight shut she could feel them, like pinpricks in the lantern cover of her mind. A breeze rustled her hair.

"S'matter?"

Amelia jumped. Sirius had woken, silently, and was stumbling towards her, rubbing his eyes.

"I don't –"

Sirius looked at her – body tensed, wand out – and drew his own wand.

"Something woke me…" she said, as he cast his eyes about the dark campsite. "It's less that something's wrong – more like something is about to be," she shrugged.

"Bad feeling?"

"Like… like the headache you get before a thunderstorm, only not a headache, and not a thunderstorm."

They listened to the distant singing for a while and measured each other's gaze.

"I'm going to wake Arthur," said Sirius, ducking between the Weasley tents.

Amelia stooped and shook Hazel awake; she made a sound that could have been described as 'disgruntled'.

"_Bones_," she hissed.

Somewhere inside the mass of red hair an eye cracked open and squinted at her in the wandlight.

"Trouble?"

"Maybe."

Wordlessly, Bones grabbed her torch and started feeling around for her trainers.

Amelia went to the next tent to raise Penny and Emily; soon there were six irritable, mildly concerned young women gathered between the circle of tents, armed with three torches, one monkey wrench, two knitting needles and a wand.

"Well, seen anything?" Arthur yawned. "Sirius said you had a bad feeling about something."

"It's usually a good idea teh pay attention teh Amelia's bad feelin's," said Alex, keeping an eye on a party of drunken wizards who were weaving through the tents not far away. "All hell tends teh break loose."

"I can't explain it, Arthur," said Amelia, worriedly. "Something nasty's going to happen, and it's going to happen soon."

Arthur took in their expressions.

"I might just go and check in with Basil," he began.

Distantly, someone screamed – the party turned towards the sound. Somewhere in the midst of the Irish camp a fire leapt suddenly higher, showering the nearby tents with sparks. Arthur ducked back into his tent to wake the boys as Amelia ripped open Hermione and Ginny's tent and practically threw the two sleeping girls outside. Grabbing their coats and shoes she thrust them towards them as Weasleys began spilling groggily out into the night.

Hermione grabbed hold of Ginny as the younger girl stumbled into her shoes, then tugged on Amelia's sleeve.

"Mel?" she asked, now painfully awake,

"Wands out, girls."

"There!" Alex pointed to the woods – people were running into them, fleeing something that was moving across the field towards them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light, and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter and drunken yells were drifting towards them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

There was a general rearrangement of adults around Ginny, Hermione, Harry, Ron and the twins.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upwards, was marching slowly across the field. Amelia squinted at them… they didn't seem to have faces… then he realised that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in mid-air, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

"_Oh, hell no_," growled Penny, tightening the grip on her heavy, metal torch; Alex swore under her breath. Amelia moved closer to her cousin, sick with horror.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Amelia saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent, and Amelia recognised one of them – Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. Once of the marchers below flipped Mrs Roberts upside-down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers; she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick…"

Amelia felt the anger and horror of her friends boiling through her; she did her best to block it out, needing to focus.

"We're going to help the Ministry," Arthur shouted over all the noise, rolling up his sleeves. "You lot – get into the woods and _stick together_! I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out! Amelia, perhaps it would be best if you and the ladies avoided them… Sirius?"

"Right behind you," he clapped Harry on the shoulder before sprinting away with the others towards the oncoming marchers. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction towards the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her towards the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione and George followed, the girls not far behind. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the centre, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had long since been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air.

Fred and George pulled Ginny into the woods; Hermione tugged urgently on Amelia's sleeve, but neither Amelia nor the assembled women moved.

"You go," she said, glancing along the line. "We'll catch up. Be safe."

"You know if they figure out you're Muggles –"

"Well fuck a bunch of that," said Penny. If the situation had been different, Amelia would have laughed.

"They won't have time," said Desi, grimly.

"But –"

"_Go_," said Amelia, firmly, and Hermione turned and ran after her friends.

Faces set, the six of them advanced towards the jeering crowd.

"We got a plan?" Alex asked, rolling up her sleeves.

"I think they'll be better off down – even if they fall," said Hazel, agitatedly moving her torch between her hands.

"If we rush them, will they have time to attack us?" asked Emily, stepping over the remains of someone's tent.

"Probably, why?"

"If they drop them right now the Roberts' will have a softer landing – right on top of those bastards."

There was a vast explosion from the other side of the road, stopping the party in their tracks. For a moment the whole campsite was drenched in green light.

"We're going to get hurt quite badly, aren't we?"

"Yep."

"Those kids can't be older than six."

There was a rather pregnant pause as they looked at one another in the half-light.

"I'll try to make as big a bang as possible – distract them," said Amelia.

There were a series of terse nods. Alex and Emily picked up sturdy sticks – the charred remains of someone's tent. Amelia hoped the occupants had had time to vacate it.

She took a deep breath then hurled an _Incendio_ charm directly inn front of the hooded wizards. The spell exploded with a deafening roar as the six women sprinted into the crowd, screaming obscenities and hitting anything they could reach.

So tightly packed was the crowd and so fierce the explosion that hardly any of them had their wands ready. Amelia concentrated on keeping shield charms between her friends and the masked men as, one by one, the crowd began to fall back under their furious onslaught.

The knot of dark wizards in the centre of the crowd had lost their focus – Mr Roberts and his wife and daughter came crashing down into the crowd, taking out several wizards as they came to rest. Behind her, the Ministry wizards started to fight their way through. Somewhere nearby she could hear Arthur and Sirius shouting.

The youngest Roberts, a tiny boy of four, was still airborne; instead of releasing him, his captor had driven him higher, as if he was thinking of using him as a hostage. Penny shared a speaking look with Amelia; both women began to move as one.

Stooping to pick up a cauldron from the remains of a trampled campfire, Penny swung around suddenly and smacked the cauldron into the wizard's legs with a sickening crunch. He crumpled, howling in pain – as soon as he lowered his wand the tiny shape above them began to fall, silently, as though the child was too afraid even to scream.

Moving beneath him, Amelia slowed his descent, plucking him out of the air as soon as he came within reach.

The majority of the crowd were dispersing now – or at least, they were trying to; the Ministry wizards had taken advantage of the women's shock tactics and were now ploughing into the group. Penny had removed the fallen wizard's wand and had sat on him, having no other way of preventing his escape. Not that she needed to; her blow with the cauldron had shattered his kneecaps. He was pounding ineffectually at the ground with his fists, screaming with rage and pain.

Alex, Bones, Desi and Emily had formed a sort of ferocious defensive ring around the dazed Roberts family; Amelia moved to join them, the tiny boy in her arms clinging to her neck and crying silent, terrified tears. There came a shout from behind her and she was pushed forward a few steps; something hot shot past her face and impacted in a nearby tent, setting it on fire.

Before she could turn she felt a presence at her back.

"_I thought we told you to stay in the woods!_" Sirius shouted, keeping his back to hers and hurling curses into the diminishing fray.

It was a while before the Ministry wizards reached them, and even longer before they could persuade the terrified little boy still hanging from Amelia's neck to let her go. In the end they had to wait until his mother had recovered enough to bodily take him from her. Wide eyed and terrified, the woman had wrung Amelia's hand, then the hands of all the girls in turn.

The boy's sister, clearly still frightened but emboldened by her mother, had crept up to Penny and kicked the fallen wizard hard in the shin; Penny had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop herself laughing. She gave the small girl a high five before Arthur and Basil led the family away to their cottage, apologising over and over as they went. Three of the Ministry wizards helped Penny up and removed her screaming wizard with grim smiles.

With no clear idea of what to do, the whole party wandered over to the Roberts's cottage to wait for the all-clear, partly in the vain hope that their presence might somehow make it better. After a few minutes, Mrs Roberts bustled out and demanded, in a strained voice, whether any of them wanted tea. She had tied her hair back into a knot on the back of her head and pulled a cardigan and apron on over her nightdress. Amelia thought that she had the look of a woman who was trying to convince her family that everything was 'normal' again; Emily and Hazel followed her into the cottage to help.

"She seems to be coping well," said Percy, as he ducked out of the cottage. His normally neat hair was all over the place and his clothes were singed in several places. He was quite pale, and Amelia realised that this was the boy's first fight; she tried to imagine the uptight prefect of the year before running into battle, and couldn't.

"She has tae, no one else is," snapped Alex, who was nursing a deep, purple cut along her arm that Amelia had been unable to heal.

Percy stiffened at her tone, and might have retorted, but what promised to be an interesting argument was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of a fresh bunch of Ministry wizards, led by Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch. They all looked exhausted; Amelia guessed that they had been the ones who gave chase when the dark wizards had made a break for it.

"Merlin's beard!" Bagman exclaimed. "Miss Brown, you're covered in blood!" He was staring at her face; Amelia reached up in disbelief to find a long, thin cut across her face. Her fingers came away bloodied and she frowned. She hadn't even realised it was there.

"Must have caught a stray curse, Ludo – no, really, I'm fine," she assured him.

"It wasn't stray," Sirius muttered as Ludo tried – and failed – to coddle Alex. "If I hadn't thrown up that shield charm, I'd be explaining to Remus why his fiancée had no head tomorrow morning."

She looked up at him, sharply.

"You need to pay attention to thing behind you in battles, or you'll _die_!" He looked torn between shouting at her and hugging her.

Had it really been that close?

"I had – the boy –"

"I know you did," he hissed, exasperated. "But you can't expect a fight to be over just because you think it ought to be."

"That was _brilliant_," said Charlie, leaving the cottage and smacking a shaking Percy on the back. "I'm going to treasure the image of those ponces scattering before a gang of enraged archaeologists for the rest of my life."

"You really should have stayed in the woods, girls, but I'm rather glad you didn't just now," said Arthur, following his son outside. "Mr Roberts was threatening to do something called 'suing' to us, but Mrs Roberts clapped him around the head and informed him that we were clearly not to blame for – well, I probably shouldn't say exactly what she called them. But she's saying that you're heroes."

"You hear that, girls?" said Desi, loudly, "we're heroes!"

"It was still a damned foolish thing to do," Sirius snapped, hotly. He glanced over to where Penny's fallen wizard was being held by a group of grim-faced Ministry wizards. They didn't appear to be in a hurry to fix his knees, and he looked very much like he was going to be sick. "I'm not saying it wasn't spectacular, mind," he said, more quietly, a smile playing about his lips. It faded as he continued, "but none of you really know what Death Eaters are capable of."

"And you do, don't you Mr Black."

They turned to find Barty Crouch glaring at Sirius, a vicious expression on his face.

"Of course I do," said Sirius. "I fought them last time around."

His voice was quite calm, but Amelia could feel his blood boiling.

"So you have no idea of how this began?" Crouch asked, icily.

"Just what are you impl-" Amelia began, incredulous, but Crouch cut her off.

"Interesting isn't it, that an uprising of this scale should happen to occur at the first public event following your pardon," he continued, in clipped tones.

"Now see here, Barty, old chap," said Arthur, alarmed.

"I had nothing to do with what happened tonight until the alarm was raised," said Sirius, hotly.

"Ah, so you _admit_ –"

"When he joined _your_ wizards in trying to get these people to safety," snapped Amelia.

_Really!_

"Oh? And how would you know that, Miss Brown?" Crouch asked, turning his cold glare to her instead. "I've been told that you didn't join the fray until later on – a completely irresponsible and pointless action on your part, I might add –"

A crunch on the gravel path behind her told Amelia that her friends had emerged from the cottage; the five of them were squaring up behind her and Sirius in an entirely accidental sort of way.

"The Roberts' are safe, I wouldn't call that pointless – or irresponsible." _You pompous old bastard,_ she added, mentally.

"You endangered the Muggle family, the wizards trying to rescue them – and your little Muggle friends."

0o0

"_Little Muggle friends?_" All at once, Alex's tone had become downright alarming.

"They were in a fair fucking amount of danger to start with," said Desdemona, sharply.

"We knew what we were getting into," Emily told him, looking Crouch up and down with an air of intense dislike.

Crouch, unfortunately, took the opportunity to take out some of his frustration on the girls.

"Why, I wonder, would you illegally involve yourselves in matters that do not concern you –?"

Several people sputtered indignantly.

"They were hurting people, I think that concerns everybody," spat Hazel, disgusted with the man.

"I don't think –"

"No, you don't, do you?" Hazel snapped.

"They were hurting children," echoed Penny, in a voice that suggested that Crouch ought to choose his next words very carefully, Minister of whatever or not.

"Now Barty, really," said Arthur, who had been watching the developing argument with increasing alarm. "Sirius was with us the whole time – he came to wake me when Amelia heard the screams." Apparently Arthur felt that Amelia's talents were best left undisclosed for the moment. "Then these ladies helped to get my children and their friends to the woods while we went off to help – _together_," he added, sternly, "and the rest you know… And if my word is not good enough, Bill, Charlie and Percy were with us all the way."

Crouch looked as if something unpleasant had just crawled up his nose.

"Very well," he said, sharply. "But your irresponsibility means that these ladies will need to be Obliviated, Miss Brown."

"But, sir!" started Percy.

"Now really, Barty," Ludo sputtered.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Mr Crouch," said Amelia, very quietly.

Sirius glanced at her – outwardly, she looked perfectly calm. Her expression was completely unreadable and she held her wand loosely, as if it had just happened to find its way between her fingers – but her eyes were cold and hard.

Sirius was forcibly reminded of the night, only a few months previously, when Amelia had thought that he and Remus were a threat to her cousin. Even though she'd refrained from hurling the curse that had been at the tip of her wand, he had felt the raw power of it singe his robes as it pressed into his chest. That had been the night when he had watched her explain, quite carefully, exactly what she would do to the man she had (until that moment) considered to be her lover if he ever threatened Hermione. Remus hadn't doubted it for a moment – Sirius had seen it in his old friend's eyes, devastated that she couldn't trust him – and that was good enough for him. Amelia took threats to her family seriously.

Oh dear.

Barty Crouch really was in trouble.

He fought the beginnings of a grin, despite his anger. He was really beginning to understand why his usually uptight and careful friend hadn't been able to resist her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Barty, they've signed the disclosure papers, there's no reason to –" put in Basil, clearly astonished at his superior's sudden demented behaviour.

"Be silent!" snapped Crouch, suddenly looking quite deranged. "Are you threatening me, Miss Brown?"

"No sir," Amelia said, steadily and quietly. "Merely implying that any wizard that takes a step towards my family with the intention of harming them will not take another."

The campsite had gone very quiet, all of a sudden; Mr and Mrs Roberts were peering out of the door of their cottage. Sirius stood in the middle of it all, trying very hard not to look like he was enjoying himself.

"Then clearly you have misunderstood the intention of the Obliviate charm," said Crouch, voice dripping with pomposity. "As you have not been in our world very long, it is only to be expected –"

"Perhaps I did not make myself clear, Mr Crouch," said Amelia, with precision. "I consider the unnecessary and therefore unlawful removal of a person's memories harmful. I agree that I haven't been a part of _your_ world for very long, but I can assure you that I have a sound grasp of what is morally acceptable, and what is simply reprehensible."

"You dare suggest that _I_ do not?" he demanded, spittle flying in all directions. "I was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for seven years, Miss Brown –"

"Yes sir," said Amelia, a dangerous tone in her voice. "During which time Sirius here was sent to prison for life with neither trial nor conviction, while the man who actually murdered thirteen people with one curse was allowed to wander free. Tell me, Mr Crouch, how many more of Azkaban's inmates received a fair trial?"

Crouch looked as though he might explode.

"_All of them deserved to rot!_" he hissed.

"Did they? Or did you decide that they should?"

"You _dare_ suggest – !"

Crouch raised his wand.

If Amelia had really meant to hurt the man, Sirius thought, he would already be grounded. As it was, Ludo Bagman of all people disarmed him.

"That's enough, Barty! Oliver, Basil, take Mr Crouch somewhere quiet to calm down – here, give him back his wand." He turned, expression unusual sober. "I can assure you, Miss Brown, that none of your friends will be Obliviated – we owe you all for what you have done tonight, and in any case, as you and Basil have pointed out, to perform the charm without reason is illegal. Will you accept my apologies?"

"Certainly, Ludo," Amelia responded, with considerable grace, "but you have no need to apologise."

"And you, old chap?" he nodded towards Sirius, his customary grin beginning to reassert itself.

"Naturally," Sirius nodded, curtly. "As Amelia said, _you_ have nothing to apologise for."

"Well, now that's sorted –" Arthur began, watching his colleagues lead an apoplectic Crouch away. The words died in his throat.

"What on earth is that?" Hazel cried, pointing into the sky.


	8. Morsmordre

_**And, since it's Easter, have a second chapter on me :) Have a great one, guys!**_

"What on earth is that?"

Hazel was pointing at an immense green shape in the sky above the woods, but she needn't have bothered; the entire campsite was bathed in a cold, green, glittering light. It was a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

A lot of things happened at once:

Screams erupted from the woods as wizards poured back into the night, clearly petrified; Arthur shouted for Percy to stay with the Roberts' as the Ministry wizards Disapparated with audible 'pop's; Amelia grabbed Sirius's arm.

"Well?"

The older wizard's face was suddenly aged and gaunt; Amelia was strongly reminded of the night they had met.

"It's the Dark Mark – Voldemort –"

"STAY HERE!" Amelia bellowed at the girls as she and Sirius Apparated, wands up, to the spot directly below the awful thing, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood, like some grisly neon sign.

"STUPEFY!" she roared, along with the rest, as someone in the clearing yelled, "DUCK!"

The night flashed with wandlight, followed by a great gust of wind; jets of fiery red light were flying around the clearing, creating a kind of glowing crimson maze. They crossed each other at high speed, bouncing off the tree trunks and rebounding into the night.

And on the floor of the clearing, as close to the ground as they could get, were – for a moment, Amelia was sure that her heart had stopped –

"Harry!"

"Hermione!"

"Stop!" yelled Arthur, "STOP, _that's my son!_"

Amelia and Sirius joined Arthur as he rushed towards them.

"Are you alright?"

"Ron – Harry – Hermione, are you okay?"

"Here –" Sirius practically lifted Hermione to her feet. Their voices sounded shaky, Amelia realised, trying to quiet the jittery thing that was hammering away at the inside of her chest.

"Mel! Your face!"

"I'm fine – are you?"

_What a state we must look_, she thought.

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.

Amelia tightened her grip on Hermione's shoulder. It was Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. The three children turned to face them. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"_We_ didn't do that!" said Harry, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow, and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Of course they bloody didn't," Amelia snapped. Crouch ignored her.

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping – he looked more than slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"This is bollocks," Amelia stated, not even bothering to lower her voice. She, Arthur and Sirius moved between Crouch and the children.

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woollen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to –"

"If you think you're going to just carry them off like you did with me –" Sirius growled, murder in his voice, but Arthur cut across him, impatiently.

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" he asked, with an air of urgency.

"Over there," said Hermione shakily, pointing into the woods. "There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words – an incantation –"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy –"

"_Every_ bloody spell is conjured with an incantation," Amelia spat. "You make one more insinuation about my cousin, Mr Crouch, and this time I really _will_ be threatening you."

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron or Hermione had conjured the spell; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again, and were squinting through the dark trees in the direction she had indicated.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woollen dressing-gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said Amos Diggory. "Our stunners went right through those trees… there's a good chance we got them…"

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly, as he squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing and disappeared into the darkness.

_What a bunch of pansies_, Amelia thought with mild dislike. Hermione must have sensed her attitude because she glanced up at her; Amelia gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

A few seconds later, they heard Amos shout.

"Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious" It's – but – blimey…"

"You've got someone?" shouted Crouch, clearly astonished. "Who? Who is it?"

They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Amos re-emerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. A House Elf wearing an incredibly grubby tea-towel.

Everyone turned to stare at Crouch and Amelia followed their gaze, surmising that this tiny, dishevelled creature must belong to him. He did not move or speak as Amos deposited her on the ground at his feet. For a moment he remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Guiltily, Amelia felt enormous relief that someone had been caught. Crouch appeared to come to life again.

"This – cannot – be," he said, jerkily. "No –"

He moved quickly around Amos and strode off to the place where he had found the elf.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Amos called after him. "There's no-one else there."

But Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around, the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Amos said, grimly, looking down at the elf's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf… I mean to say…"

"Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Amelia mused, gazing down on the tiny, forlorn creature, lying on the damp ground in front of them.

"Come off it, Amos," Arthur agreed, quietly. "You don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Amos, "and she _had_ a wand."

"_What_?" said Arthur, dumbfounded.

"Here, look," Amos held up a wand and showed it to Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand_."

_Why_? Amelia wondered, then jumped as Ludo Bagman appeared with a 'pop'.

"Been lookin' after the Roberts family," he explained, as everyone stared at him. "Any luck? The Dark Mark – who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush moustache were both twitching.

"Gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed the elf lying at his feet. "What happened to _her_?"

"My elf has been Stunned," said Crouch, still talking in that same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips.

Amelia stared at him, astonished at the level of dread radiating off the odious man. Was his reputation so vital to him that his elf's one indiscretion could cause him to tremble with fear?

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why –?"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at the elf and then back up to Crouch.

"_No!_" he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand for a start!"

"And she had one," said Amos. "I found her holding one, Ludo."

"Which she might just as easily have stumbled upon," Amelia interjected, but it seemed that the Ministry wizards were united in ignoring her tonight.

"If it's alright with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she has to say for herself," Amos continued, oblivious.

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Amos, but he seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his wand, pointed it at Winky and said, _'Enervate!'_

Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Amos's feet, and slowly, tremulously, she looked up into the sky. Amelia could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing and burst into terrified sobs.

Amelia fought the urge to pick her up and comfort her, suspecting that Winky would take it as an insult.

"Elf!" said Amos Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backwards and forwards on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Amelia felt sick, mildly horrified at the casual mention of an official government department that smacked of slavery. Just what kind of world was this?

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," said Amos. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"Steady on, Amos," Amelia said, not liking the tone of the inquiry – it sounded as though Amos had already made up his mind about Winky's guilt. She found herself increasingly disgusted with the lot of them.

"I – I – I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Amos, brandishing it in front of her. Amelia was about to intercede on Winky's behalf, but Harry stopped her.

"Hey – that's mine!" he said.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" said Amos, incredulously.

"That's my wand," said Harry. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeated Amos in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

Sirius took a step towards him, but Amelia caught the sleeve of his shirt.

"Amos, don't be a pillock," said Arthur, very angrily. He sounded like he'd had just about enough. "Think who you're talking to! Is _Harry Potter_ likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er – of course not," mumbled Amos. "Sorry… carried away…"

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," said Harry, jerking his thumb towards the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Amos, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is… I is… I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

Amelia frowned. As much as she wanted to help the elf she could feel deception creeping out of her every pore; if she wasn't lying about the Mark, she was lying about something else.

"It wasn't her!" said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at her friends, appealing for their support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron agreed.

"Well, we'll soon see," growled Amos Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Amos raised his own wand again, and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

"_Prior Incantato,"_ he roared, somewhat too dramatically.

Amelia heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them, it looked as though it was made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"_Deletrius,"_ Amos shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in an anticlimactic wisp of smoke.

"So," said Amos with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"_You've been caught red-handed elf!_" Amos roared, "_Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!_"

Amelia, who was fast coming to the conclusion that Amos Diggory was a prize pillock, rolled her eyes.

"Christ!" she scoffed, drawing the gaze of the assembled wizardry. "What kind of a justice system is this? There's absolutely no proof that Winky cast the spell, just that she found the wand that had! Any conviction based on such tenuous evidence would be ethically unsound – you'd have to be _insane_ –"

Sirius laid a hand on her arm, but she shook him off. This was ludicrous.

"Amos," said Arthur loudly, "think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell… where would she have learnt it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a deeply unpleasant silence; one which Amelia decided to break:

"Do you?"

Several wizards sputtered in shock; Arthur shot her a warning look. Amelia ignored him, it seemed to be a fair question to her, no matter what Crouch's credentials; but Crouch didn't seem to have heard her, he was still staring at Amos Diggory.

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are _least_ likely to conjure the Mark!" he barked. "Harry Potter – and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course – everyone knows –" muttered Diggory, looking highly discomfited.

"To be fair, Mr Crouch, you've just accused three schoolchildren of the same crime, one of whom _is_ Harry Potter," said Amelia, who had, by this point, gone beyond exasperation and come out somewhere on the other side. She felt like giggling.

Crouch shot her a venomous look.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practise them?" Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

Amelia was about to suggest that he did protest too much, but stopped herself, thinking of Crouch's son.

"Mr Crouch, I – I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" muttered Amos, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Crouch, clearly applying more shaky wizard logic. "Where else would she have learnt to conjure it?"

"She – she might've picked it up anywhere –"

"Precisely, Amos," said Arthur. "_She might have picked it up anywhere_… Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he, too, was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea-towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.

"I – I is finding it… I is finding it there, sir…" she whispered, "there… in the trees, sir…"

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, and thanked the Gods for Arthur Weasley.

"You see, Amos?" he said. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been feet away from the real culprit!" said Amos, impatiently.

"In the dark," Amelia reminded him. "I can't see more than two feet outside the clearing. There was a mumbled agreement from the assembled wizardry, but Amos Diggory glared at her.

"Elf?" he demanded. "Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Amos to Ludo Bagman, and on to Crouch. Amelia frowned, wondering what she could be afraid of – all three wizards had been with her and the others at the cottage when the Mark had been conjured, it couldn't possibly have been them.

Then she gulped, and said, "I is seeing no one, sir… no one…"

"There, you see," said Amelia. "It's pitch black in there –"

But Crouch appeared to have lost what remaining patience he possessed.

"You will be _silent_, Miss Brown!" he barked. "So far tonight you have irresponsibly led a gang of Muggles in a riot, endangered the lives of the Muggle campsite owners, made countless accusations about my character and threatened me, twice!"

She could feel Hermione's eyes on her; she would have some explaining to do in the near future.

"You will not interfere further in my affairs! Do not forget that I know where your family lives!"

Arthur looked like he wanted to intercede, but Amelia caught his arm. Crouch was actually spitting with rage. He'd already tried to hex her once tonight, and now Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the firing range. There was nothing they could do, no matter how much they might want to.

"Amos," said Crouch, curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Amelia frowned at the blatant double-standard being enacted in front of her. Amos looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to everyone that he didn't dare refuse such a powerful member of the Ministry.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Crouch added coldly.

"M-m-master…" Winky stammered, looking up at Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please…"

_Punished for what?_ Amelia wondered, suddenly. Hadn't they more or less proven that Winky hadn't been involved?

Crouch stared back at the elf, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

Amelia found it difficult not to stride across the clearing and strangle the man as he spoke.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. _This means clothes_."

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Crouch with a venom that Amelia suspected was etched on her own face. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Crouch took a step backwards, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she was something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said, coldly, looking up at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.

There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Arthur, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can – if Harry could have it back, please –"

Amos Diggory handed Harry his wand and the boy pocketed it.

"Come on, you lot," said Arthur, quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf.

"Hermione," said Amelia, taking her hand; she turned and followed the others out of the clearing.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione asked, as soon as they were back in the trees.

"I don't know," said Arthur, heavily. Amelia guessed that he was equally unhappy about this new turn of events.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione, furiously. "Mr Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time… and Mr Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was – it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron.

Amelia winced.

Hermione rounded on him. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron, it's disgusting the way –"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Arthur quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Arthur, tensely.

But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded.

A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Arthur coming towards them, many of them surged forwards.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur – it's not – _him_?"

"Of course it's not him," said Arthur, impatiently. "We don't know who it was, it looks like they Disapparated. Now, excuse me please, I want to see that my children are safe."

He led them through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.

For the first time, Amelia realised how tired she was. She hoped that people had taken in their neighbours…

Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George and Ginny got back okay, but the others –"

"I've got them here," said Arthur, bending down and entering the tent. Dimly, Amelia realised that Percy and the girls were hurrying over from the Roberts' cottage. She motioned for them to follow the others into the tent.

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.

"Did you get them, Dad?" said Bill sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," said Arthur, heavily. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"_What_?" said Bill, Charlie and Percy together.

"Harry's wand?" said Fred.

"_Mr Crouch's elf_?" said Percy, sounding thunder-struck.

"What the hell is a Dark Mark?" Penny demanded.

"What the hell is an elf?" asked Alex.

With some assistance from Harry, Ron, Hermione, Amelia and Sirius, Arthur explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly.

"Well, Mr Crouch was quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said; Amelia gawped at him, wondering where the studious young wizard had picked up such overwhelming pomposity. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to… embarrassing him in front of the Department for Regulation and Control –"

"She didn't do anything – she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy – better, indeed, than any of the others.

Wearily, and aware that this could go on for some time, Amelia pulled the bedsheet away from Bill's arm and conjured bandages out of thin air. She cleaned the wound and dressed it as Percy recovered himself.

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" he declared, pompously.

"She didn't run amok!" shouted Hermione. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron, impatiently; there was a murmur of assent from the girls, most of whom were giving Percy Weasley a series of odd and unimpressed looks. "It wasn't hurting anyone… why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Arthur, quietly, his face seeming suddenly much older than Amelia remembered. "Of course people panicked… it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean… it's still only a shape in the sky…"

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Arthur; Amelia shivered, carefully wrapping bandages around Bill's arm. "The terror it inspired… you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home, and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside…" Arthur winced. "Everyone's worst fear… the very worst…"

There was silence for a moment.

"And they like attacking non-magical folk?" asked Emily, quietly.

Arthur nodded gravelly.

"They saw it as their duty…"

"Their _duty_?" Desi demanded, appalled.

"They're like the Nazis," Amelia explained quietly, fixing Bill's bandages in place. "Only instead of the 'Aryan race', they limit their 'pure' world to witches and wizards and destroy everything they see as 'impure', and therefore non-magical."

She sighed. Teaching at Hogwarts had seemed like such a good idea a year ago.

"You mean people?" asked Abi, astonished.

"You mean people like us," said Hazel, quietly.

Silence fell once more.

Amelia mended Charlie's shirt absently, with a flick of her wand; she passed Percy a cloth for his face before sitting heavily on the ground, her back against the central tent-mast.

"Well it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them – except the one Penny caught."

"Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron, suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters –" Harry began. All the Weasleys flinched, and Amelia rolled her eyes. "Sorry," said Harry quickly, "what were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" aid Arthur, with a hollow laugh' Amelia's friends moved imperceptibly closer together. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished, with obvious disgust.

"But if they _were_ the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

Amelia nodded, the part of her mind that was still ticking over despite the hopelessness and exhaustion, determined to change the curriculum this year to include the Nuremburg trials.

"So… whoever conjured the Dark Mark…" said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Arthur. "But I'll tell you this… it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now… Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours' sleep and then try to get an early Portkey out of here."

"Well, I'm not sticking around," said Alex evenly. "No offence teh you lot, you're lovely, but that was a bit too much excitement fer me."

The ladies mumbled their agreement.

"Will you be alright to drive?" Amelia asked, hauling herself to her feet. She'd suddenly become incredibly tired, like she was trying to move through treacle.

"We'll not go far – just not here," said Alex.

Amelia nodded.

"I'll stay – give me a sec' and I'll pack your tents for you."

"Right," said Alex, briskly. "It was really nice meeting you all again," she said to the Weasleys, Harry and Sirius; the ladies chorused their agreement. Everyone without an injured arm shook hands.

"I'm just sorry it had to go this way –" said Arthur as they left the tent.

"He knows it's nothing personal, right?" asked Desdemona as Amelia magically packed their belongings.

"Yeah, but he feels responsible," she said. "So do I, to be honest. I got you into this."

"And out of it again," said Emily, lifting her pack onto her shoulders.

Hermione, who was waiting by her and Ginny's tent hugged each of the ladies in turn, then quickly got out of the way as they hugged a mildly alarmed Ginny, too.

Amelia chuckled.

"Better watch out, Gin, you're family now," she winked at her, and Ginny smiled, tiredly.

Sirius was now being hugged too – "Penny, how many bikes have you ridden before?"

"Enough," she chuckled. "You can come get it later."

"Do you think you can find Bea's farm from here?" Amelia asked Alex, as their friends shouldered their packs.

"Not a bad idea, that. Think she'll mind?"

"You need her, when has she ever minded that?" said Amelia. "Besides, you can tell her we're okay, and leave Sirius's bike there… Can I ask a favour?"

"Anythin'."

"Call Remus and tell him we're all okay – and get him to go to Molly's first thing and let her know, too."

"As soon as we get clear of the anti-Muggle stuff," Alex put her head to one side. "What have you got yourself into, girl?"

Amelia shrugged, a little helplessly; she had been wondering the same thing.

"You'll be alright, though?"

She nodded.

"Okay," said Alex, though she didn't sound convinced, and gave her friend a tight hug. "You know where teh find us."

"Yeah," said Penny. "If you need us, just call – or owl, or whatever."

"Or owl Beatrice and get her to call us," added Hazel.

Amelia found herself nodding endlessly as she was hugged again and again.

Drooping with exhaustion, she rested her head on Sirius's shoulder as they watched the girls weave their way through the maze of tents and out of sight. He gave her shoulders a squeeze as the two of them wriggled into Amelia's tent.

She didn't even hear him wish her a good night before she was asleep, her last waking thoughts dwelling on Grace's words.

What _had_ she got herself into?


	9. Return, Mollified

Remus had spent a restless couple of hours pacing the flat following Alex's early morning phone call. She had assured him that everyone was alright, of course, but he still couldn't shake the fear that she hadn't told him everything… which meant that Amelia had asked her friend to be vague.

Which meant that she, or Hermione, or Sirius, or Harry was badly hurt.

Impatient and afraid, he forced himself to stop pacing and instead glared at the clock in the corner of the room: it was ten minutes to five…

Molly wouldn't be awake yet, surely?

He ran his hands through his hair distractedly. What if the news had already reached her… what time did the _Daily Prophet_ arrive in Ottery St Catchpole?

Making up his mind, he pulled out his wand and Apparated to the Burrow, landing in the lane just down the road with a resounding crack.

_Even if she isn't up yet, _he reasoned, hurrying up the lane, _I can pace just as well here as at the flat…_

But, as he rounded the corner he saw that the tiny kitchen was already filled with light. Quickening his pace, he saw a small, frantic figure emerge into the pre-dawn darkness.

"Remus? Is that you?" Molly Weasley came running out to meet him, still in her dressing-gown and slippers. "Have you heard – are they – ?"

He caught her arms as she flew towards him.

"One of Amelia's friends telephoned – she said that they were all fine."

"All of them? Ginny? The boys? Arthur – Oh Remus!" she sobbed into his cloak.

"All of them," he told her firmly. "Come on Molly, let's get inside."

He guided her gently out of the cold and into the bright kitchen.

On the table was today's copy of the _Prophet_. The headline read: 'SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP', complete with a twinkling, black and white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

Clearly, this was the part that Alex had missed out; he sank weakly into a chair, staring at the symbol that filled every adult witch or wizard with fear.

"That part I didn't hear…"

Molly blew her nose.

"But they're all alright?"

Remus nodded numbly, pulling the paper towards him.

"Well then… Keep an eye on the lane, will you? I'll get dressed."

She hurried up the stairs, aiming her wand over her shoulder at the kettle, which began to sputter and boil.

A full mug of tea shuffled across the table towards Remus as he scanned the paper for any mention of his friends; one sentence caught his eye:

'…_several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later…_'

The mug impatiently tried to nudge itself into his hand, scalding his fingers. Remus pulled his hand back, swearing. He read the last line over again as his cup of tea proceeded to sulk.

'…_several bodies were removed from the woods…_'

Bodies?

Anxiously, he crossed the kitchen and looked out of the window to the lane: dawn was breaking over Ottery St Catchpole, but there was still no sign of his friends.

_Amelia…_

He sighed, and was about to turn back to the paper when a smudge of movement on the horizon caught his attention. He stared out into the gathering light…

Could it be – ?

Yes!

"Molly!" he shouted, "They're back!"

He'd never know how, but Molly Weasley managed to propel herself down the stairs and out of the kitchen before he had even reached the door. Still in her slippers, she ran full tilt towards the growing group of people at the end of the lane, uttering hoarse cries of relief.

Remus wasn't far behind her.

0o0

Amelia was in a very bad mood.

Although she understood – and agreed with – the urgency of their early departure, she had a big problem with being shaken awake by Sirius at half four in the morning – particularly given that she'd had only about three-quarters of an hour's sleep. Having lived at Hogwarts for nearly a year and participated in student excavations for years before that she was used to abrupt awakenings, but she knew perfectly well that her body would make her pay for the stresses of the previous evening.

She let Sirius pack the tent (magically, of course) and tried not to grumble as they made their way to Basil's Portkey station.

Basil, who Amelia suspected had had even less sleep than she had, was at the centre of a throng of angry and terrified wizards, all desperately trying to get home. He was coping rather well, all tolled.

She wrapped her arms around herself as Arthur negotiated their ride home. She hadn't bothered to clean the cut on her face (though she knew she ought to) or change her clothes from the evening before, but among the crowd of frightened witches and wizards she didn't look at all out of place. She was vaguely aware of (and mildly annoyed at) Hermione hovering nearby, worrying about her. A hysterical witch rushed past her to harangue Basil and she swayed. Everything _hurt_.

Sirius took her arm with an air of nonchalance, looking like he was escorting a particularly unimpressed Cinderella home from the ball.

They joined the queue and were able to take an old rubber tyre back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. As soon as they landed, Amelia collapsed to her knees and was violently sick, much to her friends' alarm. When she'd finally stopped retching, she tried to assure them that she was _fine_, now, (which she wasn't) but they weren't having any of it. Charlie shouldered her pack while Bill and Sirius supported her most of the way through Ottery St Catchpole.

By the time they had reached the bend in the lane that led to the Burrow she'd managed to dislodge Bill and was working on Sirius; he was proving surprisingly stubborn, swatting at her hand every time she tried to push him away. He put his arm around her waist instead and she gave up.

They'd fallen behind the group a little; Amelia's body felt hollow and angry. She groaned.

"So, this is you 'fine', is it?" Sirius grumbled, not quite able to hide his concern.

"It'll stop soon, I just need sleep…"

"Does this happen a lot, then?"

"Used to. Not so much anymore – only when my body decides it hates me." She shivered against him. "Am I shaking?"

"A bit, yeah…"

"Remus is going to hit the roof."

Ahead of them, the first of the group had rounded the bend and were within sight of the Burrow; there were two distant, hoarse cries.

0o0

He could see the majority of the Weasleys and Harry as he pelted up the lane towards them, but Amelia and Sirius were nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!" Molly cried, running just ahead of him. "Arthur – I've been so worried – so _worried_!"

She flung her arms around her husband and Remus skidded to a halt beside them. Looking frantically around, he caught Harry's eye.

"They're just behind us, Professor – Amelia's –"

"Amelia's sick," Hermione finished, as she and Ginny rounded the corner. "Sirius is with her – she'll be fine," she added, as he paled.

He rushed around the bend to see a troubled looking Sirius, his arm around Amelia's waist. They appeared to be grumbling at one another, which was a good sign. Her clothes looked as though they had been slept in and there was blood on both her shirt and her face, which was sporting a long cut. She looked exhausted and was very, very pale.

Silently, he took her in his arms; he felt her relax into him as Sirius clapped him on the shoulder before continuing around the corner, recognising their need for privacy.

They stood there for a little while, arms about one another, listening to sound of each other's breathing. Remus rubbed her back until she stopped shaking.

"I thought you'd been hurt…" he began.

"Didn't Alex call?" she asked in a muffled voice, face buried in his chest.

"She did, and she said that everyone was fine…"

"But you didn't believe her?"

"But she didn't mention the Dark Mark."

"No, I imagine she didn't," she said. "Urgh."

"You alright?" he asked, trying to get a better look at her. "That's a nasty cut – Hermione said you'd been sick…"

"Nothing to worry about – just my body registering its disapproval at the lack of sleep… it doesn't do too well at the whole stress thing."

"I should get you home –"

"No way," Amelia interrupted. "I've already been sick once today because of the bloody Portkey, I'm not Apparating any time soon!"

"Alright, alright," he said soothingly. "What do you need?"

"You," she responded, without a moment's hesitation.

"No, really," he chuckled.

"I mean it," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "You nearby, a change of clothes, a mug of tea and – something to clean this cut," she raised her hand to the dried blood on her face, thinking. "D'you think Molly will mind me taking a kip on her sofa?"

"I think she'll take one look at you and force you to, love…" a frown crossed his gentle features. "I'm really glad you're okay."

Amelia smiled up at him, tiredly.

"Me too."

0o0

They rounded the lane arm in arm, Amelia allowing herself to be led towards a chair and a cup of tea. She could see Hermione fussing with the Weasleys' forthright kettle in the little window of the kitchen, looking out for them. Amelia smiled slightly, glad that everyone was home safe at last.

"Remus?"

"Yes, love?"

"Anything Sirius tells you – just don't believe him, okay?"

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason…"

"_Amelia_!" shouted Molly, from behind the kitchen door. "Look at the state you're in – come in and I'll make some… oh, Hermione's already – that's right dear, sit down."

As she shepherded her into the kitchen, Amelia was strongly reminded of her initial impression of Molly, as a mother hen among her chicks; she smiled slightly at the image.

Hermione handed Amelia and Molly mugs of very strong tea – into which Arthur insisted on pouring a measure of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey – before settling into the chair beside Amelia and trying very hard indeed not to look concerned.

She was aware that eleven pairs of eyes were glancing at her in a worried fashion, and Amelia began to feel really embarrassed. Remus, standing behind her, gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you feeling a little better, Professor?" asked Percy, mistaking her blush for a healthier complexion.

Amelia nodded.

"Fighting, plus an early morning, plus a Portkey," she said, with a grimace. "Bad combination all round."

"Fighting?" asked Molly hotly. "I would have thought Arthur and Sirius would have kept you out of it!" she glared at the two men; Remus gripped Amelia's shoulder a little bit harder.

"They tried to, Molly, but we wouldn't listen," Amelia said, before an argument could break out.

"What happened?" asked Remus sharply.

"Yeah," said Ron, interested. "You didn't tell us how you got the Muggles down."

With some help from Amelia and the kids, Arthur and Sirius started their story.

"… so we headed off to help the Ministry wizards," Sirius was saying, "and Amelia and her friends went with the kids to the woods."

"Where they left us," said Hermione, in a mildly accusatory tone.

"They were attacking children, we weren't going to leave them on their own – and nothing on earth can stop my girls when people are being hurt," Amelia defended herself with a hint of pride. "I wasn't about to let them face down fifty drunk, wand-waving lunatics on their own."

"I know," said the young witch. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have gone, it was just scary, that's all."

"Sorry, love."

"… and the next thing we know, there were six angry women running towards us, screaming and clouting anything within reach," Sirius continued.

"It was magnificent," said Bill, grinning.

Molly scowled at him.

"Then the masked wizards dropped most of the Roberts family on the crowd," said Percy, smiling very slightly, "and Penny hit the last Death Eater with a cauldron to – er – break his concentration…"

"Right in the knees," Charlie added, enthusiastically, "it made a hell of a crack."

"She works with children, he was lucky that he only lost his kneecaps," said Hermione, amused.

Amelia smiled into her tea.

"– and then Amelia sort of reached up and plucked the little boy out of the air," Percy went on.

Hermione and Ginny grinned; Ron and the twins looked greatly impressed.

"Brilliant, Miss!"

"Thank you, Harry," she said, as Remus gave her a lopsided hug.

"Was he alright?" Molly asked, concerned.

"Eventually."

"And then," said Sirius, carefully, "Amelia entirely forgot that there was a battle going on and nearly took a curse to the back of her head."

"Ow!"

Remus's hand on her shoulder had curled into a death-grip. She subjected Sirius to a baleful stare and rubbed her shoulder.

"Mel!" cried Hermione, shocked. "That was really stupid!"

"I'm fine –"

"You're fine because _I_ put a shield charm between you and the curse," said Sirius, darkly. "You only caught the edge of it."

Amelia could feel protective anger coursing through her lover; he was gripping her chair now, rather than her shoulder. She could feel his knuckles pressed into her back.

"Well, I'm sorry but I've not been in that many magical battles before," she said, grumpily. "Usually it's just people hitting each other – there was only one bloke still near enough to hurt me, and Penny was sitting on him."

"She _sat_ on him?" Ron asked, greatly amused.

"You've got to be more careful!" said Hermione, sharply.

"Look, it's done with now," said Arthur quickly, as Amelia glared at Sirius. "I'm sure Amelia won't forget in future." His tone suggested that the matter was now closed, and Amelia shot him a grateful smile. "After Amelia saved the boy we went to look after the Roberts'," he continued, "where Amelia and Sirius had a bit of a set-to with Barty Crouch."

Amelia sank in her chair slightly; she wished everyone would stop staring at her. Over her head, Remus was shooting Sirius a sharp look; the other man looked shifty, refusing to meet his friend's gaze.

Several pairs of eyes turned towards Percy, expectantly.

"What?" he asked. "Mr Crouch was out of line – he had no reason to think Sirius had anything to do with the riot, and he had no right to threaten the girls with Obliviation."

Fred and George looked greatly taken aback.

"Yeah," said Amelia, with a nod towards him. "Percy stood up for us."

"Blimey Perce," said Fred, as George clapped him around the shoulder. Percy smiled, a little sheepishly.

"What did you say to him?" asked Remus, the worry in his voice quite obvious.

"I suggested that anyone threatening my family would lead a considerably shorter and more painful life," Amelia summarised, coolly.

"You threatened him?" asked Ginny, incredulous.

"Not at all," said Amelia. "I was merely providing him with all the necessary information for him to make an informed decision. If bodily harm was implied then that was merely his interpretation."

"You implied a bit more than that," said Arthur, sternly. "And you hit your mark when you attacked his credibility."

"He sent people to prison for life without trial," said Amelia, suddenly quite angry. "I didn't say anything to him that wasn't true."

"Dad's right," said Percy thoughtfully. "I've never seen him that angry – he even pulled his wand on her."

Hermione glared at her cousin.

"Do you ever meet anyone that doesn't immediately want to hex you?"

Amelia, who was aware how worried her cousin currently was, ignored the tone.

"It must be my winning personality," she said, a couple of people chuckled.

"Then, of course, we saw the Dark Mark and rushed over to look for whoever cast it…" Arthur explained how they'd found Harry, Ron and Hermione in the clearing, Barty's accusations and Winky's subsequent dismissal. By the time he'd finished, Molly looked very much like the next time she saw Barty Crouch she would also be implying a few things.

"And then Amelia had another set to with Barty Crouch," said Arthur, somewhat reluctantly; Remus growled, softly.

"He was being completely unreasonable," said both Amelia and Hermione, in perfect unison.

Sirius snorted, then Bill and Charlie started to chuckle; soon the whole kitchen was resounding with slightly hysterical mirth.

As they calmed down, Molly tapped her wand on the kettle once more and a procession of empty mugs traipsed back across the table. Amelia peered at her mug with some trepidation. She was still a little uncomfortable with drinking out of something with quite that much personality. Remus put his hand back on Amelia's shoulder and gave it a gentler squeeze. She leaned into him slightly.

As they sipped their teas, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr Weasley heavily. "_ 'Ministry blunders… culprits not apprehended… lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace…'_ Who wrote this? Ah… of course, Rita Skeeter."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we were wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't _specifically_ stated in paragraph twelve of the _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part Humans_ –"

"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."

"Journalists have it in for everybody, as a rule," said Amelia, as Percy glowered at his brother. "Attention-seeking scare-mongers, the lot of them."

"I'm mentioned," said Arthur, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the article.

"Where?" Molly asked, annoyed. "If I'd have seen that I'd have known you were alright."

"Not by name," said Arthur. "Listen to this: _'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen._' Oh, really," said Arthur in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody _was_ hurt, what was I supposed to say? _Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods…_ well, there certainly will be rumours now she's printed that."

He heaved a deep sigh as Amelia peered across Percy's arm.

"This is like reading the Daily Mail*," she observed, with distaste. "Who believes this crap?"

"Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office," said Arthur. "This is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."

He bustled out of the kitchen; Amelia tried not to laugh. She often had trouble taking Percy seriously – mostly because he took himself seriously enough for the entire family. Hopefully he'd grow out of it.

Molly looked most upset.

"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office, surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly," said Arthur. "I've made things worse. "I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off…"

"He hasn't made things worse," said Sirius, who had taken up the paper. "It's this ridiculous Skeeter woman…"

Amelia nodded tiredly.

There was a general reshuffling of bodies as Arthur and Percy hurried off. Hermione, Ron and Harry went off to dump their stuff in Ron's room (and, Amelia suspected, to rehash events one more time); Ginny wandered out into the garden to play with Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, while Bill and Charlie sidled out to the shed to see what their Dad was currently working on behind his wife's back. Sirius, who hadn't changed clothes since the night before, went to freshen up, leaving Remus and Molly to fuss over Amelia, who for once was too exhausted to argue.

She felt a lot better after she'd had a wash and changed clothes (with Remus standing sentinel outside the bathroom door), and was feeling well enough to glare at Molly as she cleaned and healed the cut on her cheek. Obediently, she curled up on the Weasley's sofa to sleep, Remus gently stroking her hair. It was almost as if he thought he might lose her again if he broke physical contact.

Distantly, she could hear Molly barking orders about not disturbing her; she smiled into the cushions, glad to have such good friends.

0o0o0o0

She felt a great deal more human when she woke up; delicious smells emanating from the kitchen suggested that it was nearly lunchtime. She could hear Hermione and Ginny talking quietly outside in the garden and the rumble of Sirius and Remus's voices from somewhere inside, occasionally interrupted by Molly.

Feeling much recovered, she stretched and wandered groggily towards the kitchen, which was small and cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. On the wall opposite the window was a fascinating barometer-like contraption, which only had one hand. Written around the edge were things like 'Time to make tea', 'Time to feed the chickens', and 'You're late'. Next to it was a rather battered Grandfather Clock with nine hands, each labelled with the name of a Weasley. In the place of numbers were descriptions such as 'Travelling', 'Work', 'School', 'Misbehaving' and, worryingly, 'Mortal Danger'. Amelia noted with some amusement that both of the twins' hands appeared to be stuck over 'Misbehaving'.

Books were piled three deep on the mantelpiece, with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese_, _Enchantment in Baking_, and _One Minute Feasts – it's Magic!_ The old radio next to the sink announced the 'Witching Hour', with popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck, who sounded a bit like Celine Dion.

Molly was clattering around the tiny space, preparing lunch. On a table behind her a knife was chopping carrots, apparently of its own accord. Everywhere she looked she found something fascinating; she was examining the books on the mantelpiece when Molly noticed her.

"Amelia dear, you look much better."

"Yeah," she smiled, unfazed by being caught snooping around. "Thanks for letting me sleep."

"Nonsense dear."

Remus enveloped her in a hug from behind.

"You had us worried for a bit," he said into her hair. She squeezed his hand.

"Generally if I can get to sleep everything sorts itself out – Hermione's the same. Bea says we're the masters of the power-nap."

"Good to know," Sirius chuckled.

Amelia joined him at the table and gave him a one-armed hug.

"Thanks for looking after me," she said.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said expansively.

"And for last night – from the sounds of it I wouldn't be here…"

He grinned at her.

Amelia stole a piece of carrot when Molly wasn't looking.

"Where'd everybody go?" she asked, when she'd stopped surreptitiously crunching.

"The boys are off playing Quidditch in the orchard," said Molly, from the sink. Amelia stole another bit of carrot.

"I was watching them for a bit," said Sirius happily. "They're pretty good – you could field your own team, Molly."

Molly tsked at him good-naturedly.

"No idea where the girls got to, though," said Sirius.

"I think I heard them in the garden," Amelia said, mouth full of carrot.

"And you can join them," said Molly firmly, "or there will be no carrots left for anyone else."

"But –"

"No, shoo," said Molly, wafting her out of the door.

0o0

"You're in trouble now," said Remus, following her.

"Nah, she was smiling," Amelia grinned, and looked up at the house; Remus followed her gaze.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigsty, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several storeys high and so crooked it looked as though it was held up by magic, which it was. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. It was, in short, a building historian's nightmare.

A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read 'The Burrow'. Round the front door lay a jumble of Wellington boots and a very rusty cauldron.

Amelia grinned up at the house in an approving sort of way, and Remus laughed at her.

Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard. Amelia picked one up and tickled it; it clucked happily. Remus reached across and tried to stroke it, but it pecked at his hand.

"I've never been much good around animals," he said, a little sadly. "I'm better with Dark Creatures… normal animals sense the wolf and run for it."

_Not that I blame them_, he added, mentally. The edge of one of Amelia's scars was just visible above her collar as she let the chicken go.

She stepped back and took his hand; they watched the chickens chase each other around for a few minutes.

"Crookshanks is okay around you," Amelia said, eventually.

"I think he's just being nice – ow! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his arm.

Amelia gave him a look.

"I think Crookshanks trusts his mistress's judgement," she said. "Also, I don't think cats 'do' nice. Friendly, perhaps… But nothing that plays with its food while it's still alive can ever be described as 'nice'."

"True," he conceded.

They wandered around the side of the house into the Weasleys' garden, which was large and full of life. There were plenty of weeds in the borders – and flowers in the lawn, which needed cutting – but the whole thing sort of blended and crashed together to create a cacophony of joyful colour. There were plants of every description spilling out from the flowerbeds and large gnarly trees around the walls. A little way beyond there was what looked like an orchard; they could hear the boys playing Quidditch in the distance.

Amelia stooped to inspect what looked like an angry potato, sticking its head out from inside a large, droopy peony bush that was hanging over the big green pond; she gasped, startled, as it ran away into the foliage.

"Gnomes," said Ginny, from behind them. "Dad's too soft on them, he thinks they're funny."

"They're quite destructive," said Remus, on Amelia's questioning glance, "they burrow under the garden – like moles, but with an attitude problem."

"And they bite," said Ginny, in a way which suggested she had found this out the hard way.

"Crookshanks likes chasing them," said Hermione. "He never catches any of them because they gang up on him, but he still does it."

Several potato heads had appeared between the enormous peony blooms and were subjecting the four of them to curious stares. They scattered as Sirius approached, diving back under the leaves.

"Molly wants you two to help with lunch," he said to the girls. "I'm off to fetch the boys."

He wandered off towards the orchard, winking at Remus and Amelia as he went. Remus chuckled after him. It was so good to see his old friend at large again. In his shirt and waistcoat he looked for all the world like a seventeenth century squire, lost on a ramble across his country estate.

He turned and watched his fiancée as she explored the garden, stooping to sniff the unusual flowers and weaving fallen sweet peas or tendrils of honeysuckle back onto trellises.

His heart swelled.

Amelia always looked happiest out of doors: fiddling with a plant or watching a beetle running over her shoes, or even photographing a view with her Muggle camera. It was part of why he loved her: she always brought the sunshine back into a building with her, as if it was somehow saved up inside her skin.

Her eyes followed a large dragonfly that was meandering past and caught him watching her.

"What?" she asked, looking suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he assured her. "I was just thinking that some day it'll be _our_ garden you're tidying."

She smiled one of those slow smiles that seemed to grow until it filled her whole face, and he beamed back.

"Mel," he said, settling on a rickety bench beneath the living room window; she joined him. "I was thinking: we should set a date for the wedding."

"What's brought this on?"

"Nothing. Well… last night I suppose," he said, with a faint smile. "Made me realise that I want to spend as much of my life with you as possible."

"You say the nicest things," she said happily, leaning her head on his shoulder and enjoying the sunshine.

Remus was seized with a sudden uncertainty.

"You do still want to marry me, don't y- _ow_. I'll take that as 'yes'," he said, rubbing his arm.

"You ask any more stupid questions today, Lupin, and you'll have more bruises than I do."

Remus smiled slightly.

"It's just – you don't seem that enthusiastic…"

"I don't know, it's just a lot to organise," she said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

"You like organising."

"Well, yes, but… I don't know. Weddings are supposed to be a spectacle… All I want is you and our family, and probably a cake. I don't get much further than that – it's like I try to think about it and my brain shuts down in self defence. I have some very clear ideas about what I _don't_ want," visions of pink dresses swam through Remus's mind and he laughed. "It just seems like an awful lot of fuss."

She had been about to smile up at him apologetically, but he caught her mouth in a passionate kiss.

"You're worth the fuss."

"…"

"So, can we talk about it?" he kissed her again, and he could feel her resistance dissolving. She pushed him away, playfully.

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to," she warned him, smiling.

"Well, so long as we're both aware of it," he grinned, and kissed her again; she laughed against his mouth.

There was a wolf-whistle from the other end of the garden and they broke apart, embarrassed. Sirius, the Weasleys and Harry were climbing back over the garden wall, broomsticks over their shoulders and grins on their faces.

Amelia stood, intending to join them, but Remus caught her arm and pulled her back.

"Well?" he asked.

"Oh, alright then," she sighed, though the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

"Come on, lovebirds!" called Sirius, and Amelia glanced back at the Weasley horde.

"After lunch," she promised. "I'm starving!"

0o0

*Don't. They make almost everything up. Do, however, go and watch the magnificent clip of Mehdi Hasan of the Huffington Post taking them down a peg on Question Time – it's definitely on Youtube by now.


	10. September Blues

It was a bit sad, packing up the little flat for another year; with both of them together it seemed to take no time at all. Soon the flat looked empty and forlorn, only a few houseplants left on the furniture, to be picked up by Bea later in the week.

Amelia sat on their two trunks next to the door and looked around.

"I hate this place when everything's tidy," she sighed, as Remus filled up his rucksack with books. She hummed a few bars of a tune, singing softly, "_I took these two grey rooms up here – with a view…_"

"Joni Mitchell?"

Amelia nodded and pulled on her cloak. The weather had turned cooler in the past few days, though she was still defiantly sporting shorts and a strappy top beneath her plum coloured robes.

She always loved the feeling of the seasons fading into one another, watching the world wake up or fall quietly back into darkness each year.

Remus pulled her to her feet before fastening his own olive green cloak about his throat. It was new – a late birthday present from Beatrice, and its weight and quality still disconcerted him.

"Once more into the fray?" he asked, taking hold of his trunk and raising his wand.

"One second," said Amelia, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him lightly on the cheek before Apparating to the gates of Hogwarts. There were a few seconds of nausea and disorientation before the great iron gates swam into resolution. A 'pop' indicated that Remus had followed her, and he grinned at her. A second 'pop' heralded the arrival of Severus Snape, amid a cloud of dust. He sneezed and then glowered at the two of them as they greeted him cheerfully.

"It's all very well pretending you hate teaching, Severus, but we know better," Remus snickered.

Severus glared at him, but with considerably less venom than usual. He let Amelia take his arm as the three of them made their way to the Thestral-drawn carriage that was waiting for them just in front of the main gates. The great, spindly beasts were pawing at the ground in a patient sort of way, raising small clouds of grit.

Amelia fed them some beef jerky as the others loaded their trunks onto the carriage. The Thestrals whinnied and nuzzled at her neck; she patted their flanks, fondly.

_They might look hideous,_ she thought, _but they're sweethearts, really._

She dusted her hands off, smiling, glad that the children of Hogwarts had the opportunity to learn that appearances weren't everything.

"Not had much rain up here, by the looks of it," she said, rejoining her friends.

Severus nodded, brushing grit off his robes.

"Blue skies all summer, Minerva told me. It wouldn't surprise me if it bucketed it down as soon as the students arrive, however."

"Well, it _is_ Scotland."

Severus rather gallantly helped her into the carriage and she settled down beside Remus, snickering at him. It was odd to think that almost exactly a year before she had made this same journey with Remus, then as strangers. Only a year since she'd first picked up a wand – though she'd always imagined that there was more in the world than the majority of people suspected. Less than a year since she'd startled Severus into laughter; a scant six months since he and Remus had forgiven one another for whatever it was they had done to each other at school…

The carriage lurched as it set off into the trees of the Forbidden Forest; there was a satisfying clang as the great iron gates swung shut behind them. Although the gates were often closed for the look of the thing they were seldom needed and almost never locked. The only occasion Amelia could remember had been during the previous year when Sirius had been suspected of trying to break in to murder Harry – unbeknownst to everyone he had already made it into the grounds by then, and locking the gates had been a little pointless. She knew that the gates (and the massive Castle doors) had been used as defences in the past. The two men sharing the carriage with her remembered those darker times; both men had lost close friends in the war, and consequently didn't often speak of it.

As the Castle flashed into view between the trees, the three friends chatted about the summer, their new classes and the impending Tournament. As the conversation turned to the rather eventful World Cup match, Severus's expression visibly darkened.

"Yes, I read about that – did you go in the end?"

"Yeah, and the girls."

Severus's ears pricked up at that; he had something of an unexamined soft spot for Hazel, whom he had met at a party at Beatrice's farm over the summer. Amelia pretended not to notice, and recounted the story to him, also choosing to ignore Remus's suddenly tense features.

While she told him about the archaeologists' own personal version of vigilantism and her subsequent disagreement with Barty Crouch, Severus's eyebrows climbed further and further up his forehead.

"Not many would go toe-to-toe with Barty Crouch in your position," Severus remarked.

"Why?" Amelia asked, as Remus made frantic 'don't tell her' motions beside her. "Wh- Remus, why are you flapping like that?"

"Er…" said Severus, and improvised. "It's just that… you're quite new to the magical world, not everyone considers Muggle-borns to have equal standing to the rest of us…"

"I'd noticed."

They listened to the rattle of the carriage in silence for a few minutes.

"Having to explain Death Eaters to the ladies wasn't much fun," said Amelia, with great sadness.

If she hadn't been looking out of the window as she had said it, she would have seen Severus blanch, before turning slightly green.

"I mean, how could _anyone_ reasonably follow Voldemort?" she continued, annoyed. "He was insane – surely at some point you'd go 'well, this guy likes torturing people to death, maybe I shouldn't go along with this…"

"Power," said Remus, who _had_ seen Severus change colour, "and peer pressure. Some people just didn't have a choice."

"There is _always_ a choice," Amelia snapped, oblivious to the silent communication going on between her two friends. "None of the people at the World Cup were _forced_ to hurt that family. They were doing it because they thought it was fun. Hilarious, even." Her tone suggested that if the Ministry wizards hadn't been present it might have gone very hard indeed for the Death Eater that Penny had floored.

"Well, yes – but there were situations where people couldn't refuse," Remus began, but Amelia cut him off.

"_You_ didn't. Severus didn't, or Sirius, or James, or Lily… Peter did, and he was under the same level of pressure as the rest of you. What it comes down to – with the exception of the Imperius curse – is doing the right thing. Some people choose to do the right thing, and other people are Death Eaters," she said firmly. "It all depends on the person you choose to be."

They spent the rest of the journey in a slightly tense silence. She didn't know why Severus had such a pained expression on his face, or why Remus was suddenly so terse, and it was making Amelia grumpy. Assuming that it had something to do with her outburst about Peter, she resolved to keep her mouth shut.

0o0

They were met at the steps of the Castle by a very excited Filius Flitwick, who greeted them a little too enthusiastically. Unconsciously, the three of them drew together; he had the look of a man who was up to something. Severus gave Remus and Amelia a curt farewell at the entrance to the dungeons and fled before Filius dragged him into whatever he had planned.

He walked slowly towards his rooms, wondering where his rather odd young friend had got such a high opinion of him.

He was grateful to Lupin for trying to defend him – given their past he wouldn't have expected it… he would have to thank the man, when he got the choice.

He let the door to his room close behind him, sadly.

He was under no illusion whatsoever that when Amelia inevitably found out about his past, he would lose his friend forever.

He resolved to put that particular conversation off for as long as possible.

0o0

"Alright, what are you up to?" Remus asked, as they met Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout outside the door of Amelia's rooms.

"Minerva asked me to tell you that your sleeping arrangements have been altered, given your – ah – _situation_."

Remus and Amelia exchanged worried glances.

"Hello, you two!" Pomona called, cheerfully.

"So we – er – put our heads together and worked something out…"

"Well," said Poppy, "go on."

Ready to jump back at the first sign of trouble, Amelia pushed the door open.

The rooms were more or less as she'd left them two months previously, but there were several more doors and a couple more bookcases. Remus stuck his head around the nearest door.

"_Two_ living rooms?" he asked.

"So you can get away from each other from time to time," said Pomona, hovering behind them with the others.

"And this one?" Amelia asked, nodding to another door.

"Goes to the bookcase in Remus's study," Filius piped up.

Amelia nodded, impressed.

"How on earth did you manage that?"

"Yes," said Remus, turning back to them. "The geography of Hogwarts is fixed, isn't it?"

"In theory," said Filius, "but we can make things bigger on the inside and reroute the odd corridor. That other sitting room, for example, is on the other side of the Castle."

Amelia peered through the open door. Not for the first time, she wondered whether she had simply gone mad and everyone was just going along with her to keep her happy.

"It's a specific perpetual portal spell," said Filius proudly.

Amelia ran her hand across the air between the two rooms: a trail of silvery sparks followed her hand, making the air appear to ripple.

"Cool."

"And we made sure it won't do anything to your computer or poddy-thing."

"We even made your bedroom bigger," said Pomona, with a deliberately lecherous smirk.

They both rolled their eyes, and Poppy laughed at them.

"Thank you, this is really great," said Remus.

"Yeah – we owe you a drink for this."

"I told you they'd like it," said Poppy, with the air of one who had done a good deal of reassuring in the recent past. "Now let's leave them to get settled – dinner's at seven in the staffroom," she said, ushering her mischievous colleagues out of the door.

"Well," said Remus, looking at the two trunks stacked neatly in the corner.

"Better unpack again, I suppose…"

Amelia smiled, thinking back to the previous year.

"Actually, I know a spell for that."

0o0o0o0

The rest of the week was spent in the grip of the usual pre-term chaos. There were timetables to agree and marking schedules to establish. The general anarchy was compounded this year by the arrival of two separate cohorts of seventh-years who needed to be incorporated into their chosen classes as neatly as possible. Amelia strongly suspected that this would be much more difficult than it sounded. Given the anti-Muggle reputation of Durmstrang and the exclusivity of Beauxbatons, she doubted that any of them would ever have taken Muggle Studies before – and all of them had been enrolled. They had all been enrolled in everything, probably in an effort to impress their hosts. Twilight classes had been arranged to accommodate them.

She was mildly concerned that their workload – on top of training for the Tournament – would be worse than Hermione's had been the year before. She wouldn't want to be in full study melt-down in a completely different country. She would have to keep an eye on them.

Providing a programme and assessment schedule that matched their skill levels along with her regular students was going to be tricky.

As the week progressed into the weekend things got steadily busier and steadily stickier; soon Amelia was inclined to agree with Severus's prediction of September storms. It occurred to Amelia, as she hurried away from Dumbledore's office with instructions to arrange weekly film showings for the three schools, that she hadn't seen Severus in nearly a week.

Thinking back, she had to conclude that he was avoiding her – though she couldn't for the life of her think why. Resolving to do something about this (if she got free time _ever_ again), she hurried up to Minerva McGonagall's office, dodging across staircases.

"Ah, Amelia, do come in."

Even McGonagall had succumbed to the heat. Her usual emerald robed hung limply on the coat stand in the corner of her office and in their place she wore a cotton blouse and an unexpectedly floral skirt. Her usually severe bun had been pinned up with a quill, and she wasn't wearing any shoes. Amelia smiled.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

"I'd kill for a lemonade," she grinned, settling into one of a few comfortable chairs arranged around a small table.

This corner, she knew, was reserved for colleagues and prefects; Minerva saw no need to put the vast majority of her students at ease. Those that she liked were already sufficiently comfortable around her, while those that she didn't were only ever called to her office for admonishment.

"I think I'll join you in that."

She snapped her fingers and had a brief discussion with the House Elf that appeared, as if from nowhere. Amelia took the opportunity to have a look around her friend's office. Not much had changed since the previous year, though there were a few more postcards tacked to the wall beside the comfy chairs. The office was at once immaculate and welcoming, full of wooden bookcases and furniture in various shades of green. She had had rather a long tenure in which to accumulate them.

A scarlet and gold banner hung above the window behind her desk, proclaiming her house pride and clashing magnificently with the rest of the room. Among the books and instruments on the shelves Amelia spotted a snitch and several broom catalogues. Outwardly proper, unwaveringly fair and terrifying to annoy, Minerva was a closet Quidditch enthusiast, frequently leading to disputes with Severus, who was just as passionate about his own house team. This rivalry would have been bitter if both parties didn't thoroughly enjoy it, though they had been known to come to blows over it on occasion.

When Amelia had first arrived at the school, terribly excited and genuinely astonished by everything, she had been sorted into Gryffindor. Minerva had subsequently become something of a mentor to her, particularly in light of Amelia's particular talents. As both witches had agreed, Amelia was something of an anomaly – and a disturbingly powerful one at that; Minerva felt that keeping an eye on her colleague was part of her responsibility to her students.

Amelia felt better having someone watching over her – not that she thought she might hurt anyone – but it was nice to be able to talk about things with someone, particularly someone as knowledgeable and straightforward as Minerva.

"So," Minerva began, as the two of them sat back and tried to cool down. "I hear you've had an interesting summer."

Inwardly marvelling at the speed at which news travelled in Hogwarts, Amelia told her about the World Cup, explaining about her foreboding and her increasing ability to read the people around her.

"Particularly Remus and Hermione," she said, "but I'm getting snatches of other people too, now…"

"Fascinating," said Minerva, sipping her ice cold lemonade, "it seems that the longer you spend around magic, the stronger your talents become – or perhaps we might say, the more control you have over them. It's not uncommon for readers to become more in-tune with those who are close to them – I shouldn't worry too much about that." She fixed her with a penetrating stare and Amelia wondered what she _should_ be worrying about. "Has – er – have there been any after-effects of your close-encounter last term?"

Amelia shifted in her seat.

"Do you mean my encounter with death, or my encounter with Remus's alter-ego?"

"Either. Both."

"Well, I don't think nearly dying did anything other than piss me off – I've been hurt badly before, that's nothing new." Minerva raised an eyebrow, and Amelia went on, a little dismissively, "the scars have healed pretty well, and it's not like I was bitten."

"Poppy informed me of your behaviour at the end of last term – and of his."

Amelia blushed. The night when she'd received her newest (and to date, most impressive) scars had led to her mortified lover trying to cut and run in order to save her from him. It had been incredibly noble and, as far as Amelia was concerned, incredibly stupid. She had chased him across the grounds and managed to convince him to come back – though she was still a little hazy about how she'd managed it. When they'd got back to the Hospital Wing, Poppy had informed them that the wolf's behaviour had been a _little_ off.

"The wolf chose you as his mate," said Minerva, matter-of-factly. Amelia was aware that her face was very warm. "Very little else would compel a fully fledged werewolf to try to protect you and your cousin – let alone keen over you when you were hurt. It has been known to happen in rare instances," she continued; Amelia rather suspected that Minerva was enjoying this. Suddenly she looked more serious. "I was also wondering whether the scratch had had any effect – particularly in light of your special talents."

"Not that I've noticed…" Amelia thought about this. "Although I do seem to be picking more fights recently…"

"Yes, I heard about your performance at the World Cup," said Minerva. "I think in your position I would have done precisely the same thing. Particularly if anyone I was with had been threatened."

Amelia nodded.

"I probably should have kept my mouth shut," she said, smiling wryly. "I can imagine Barty Crouch being able to make life unpleasant for people he doesn't like."

"Er – yes," said Minerva, with some delicacy. "Barty's not very happy with you. He put in a formal complaint about you yesterday – with his version of events, of course."

Something sudden and unpleasant happened in the pit of Amelia's stomach.

"Oh, don't look so worried," Minerva said. "I didn't believe a word of it. Albus was actually crying with laughter when he read it through – said he hadn't had so much fun writing an apology letter in years." Amelia relaxed slightly, as Minerva refilled her glass. "I daresay we would have found it even funnier if we'd have been there to see it. Still, since Barty represents a large part of the Triwizard Tournament committee I'd keep out of his way for a while if I were you."

Amelia's expression darkened. She had forgotten how much Crouch was going to be around this year.

_Great_.

"You said you'd been picking fights," Minerva said, gently. "I'm assuming that means there's been more than one."

Amelia grimaced and regaled her friend with tales of exceptionally rude dress shop owners, and the insistence of everyone in them that she ought to wear pink, that she was overweight and that her tattoos were tacky.

This, naturally enough, led to an involved discussion about the unusual family tradition of body art, and it was a good hour later before Minerva ushered Amelia out of the office.

They walked down the Great Staircase together, parting on the third floor. Amelia watched thoughtfully as her colleague hurried off towards the Greenhouses. As much as she appreciated her advice she was still rather glad that she hadn't mentioned her recent propensity for growling.

She glanced at her watch: there was still a little time before tea – she and Poppy had been into Hogsmeade and procured some fancy cakes from Madame Puddifoots' earlier in the week, and were planning to have a bit of a girly night with Pomona, Minerva, Professor Vector, Irma Hooch, the mistress of quidditch and Letitia Pince, the formidable librarian. This last opportunity for freedom had mystified many of their male colleagues: the women of Hogwarts were not known for their girliness.

The rather misty and generally irritating Divination Professor, Sybill Trelawny, had declined the offer, indicating that she 'must' spend the evening crystal gazing. Amelia suspected that it had less to do with crystals and rather more to do with Sybill's ill-concealed stash of cooking sherry, but she'd let it go. Sybill had an unfortunate predilection for predicting the untimely death of at least one person in any given room, and no one was especially sorry that she wouldn't be joining them. That sort of thing got on people's nerves.

This appointment in mind, Amelia hurried down to the Dungeons, enjoying the cooler air as she descended. Given that there were no students about, Severus's office door was ajar and the strains of Handel's Messiah were curling outwards, making the dungeons seem strangely homely and familiar. She knocked on it.

"Come."

If Amelia had been uncertain about Severus avoiding her, now she was certain. Her friend – usually so calm and collected – did an impressive double take as she walked in and fumbled a pile of handouts in a swirl of parchment. For a long moment he reminded her of a rabbit she'd once caught in her aunt's lettuce patch, but he quickly recovered himself.

She felt herself smile involuntarily and bent to help him collect the fallen parchment.

"Didn't mean to make you jump, sorry," she said lightly, handing him he share of handouts.

"Er – sorry – I was miles away."

"Clearly…" she looked at him uncertainly for a moment; his expression remained curiously inscrutable. "Look, whatever I've said – if I've offended you – I'm really sorry."

"No, no, you've done no such thing –" he assured her, but her expression must have registered her incredulity, since he plunged on, "it's just a busy time of year, the week before term – and there are storms on the way, which give me these endless bloody headaches, and –"

"Okay, okay," Amelia laughed, putting up her hands to stop him. "I just wanted to be sure."

Severus relaxed a little, but not nearly enough for Amelia's liking.

"I just got the feeling that you were avoiding me, is all – and I missed your acerbic wit."

He awarded her a small smile.

"Well, are you doing anything on Monday?" he asked. "Can't have you feeling lonely."

"Hardly. Probably reeling from the first full day of teaching." She made a face. "I've got the Weasley twins first thing, _and_ it's a double lesson."

Severus nodded, wryly.

"I can see you enjoying Mondays," he said, with some sympathy. "Tuesday, then - chess match?"

"Missed trouncing me?"

"You are ever so graceful in defeat."

Amelia stuck out her tongue.

"Very mature," Severus remarked. "You can even bring the wolf, if you want – as long as he's house-trained."

Amelia grinned; she could let that one pass.

"Sounds good," she said. "Actually, I've got some wine left over from the dig to bring along – local vineyard. Might be a bit tart."

There was a pause as Amelia waited for the inevitable. It failed to materialise, however.

"What?"

"Sorry, I was waiting for you to say '_you're_ a bit tart'. It's a student thing – been back in the trenches all summer."

Severus snorted, despite himself. Behind him, the wireless began a lusty if not altogether accurate rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.

"Didn't take you for a religious man," Amelia remarked, nodding at it.

"I'm not." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "My mother was – I just like the music."

Amelia nodded amicably: so did she.

"Best be off," she said, "films to watch, cake to eat, you know…"

Severus called her back as she turned to leave.

"Amelia? Tuesday – your office or mine?"

She gave him her very best flirtatious wink and he snorted.

"You know what I meant."

"Ours?" she laughed. "We've got a second living room now."

"Oh?"

"Filius set it up – portal spell to somewhere on the other side of the school."

"So _that's_ what he was up to – that's a relief." He glanced down at the handouts on his desk. "Better get back to it then…"

Aware she was being dismissed, Amelia paused.

"So, we're good, then?"

"Of course."

"And you're okay?"

"Indeed."

"Good."

She heard the door close discreetly behind her as she walked briskly back to the main staircase. She mulled the conversation over in her mind, in the disquieting knowledge of two things: tomorrow the real chaos of the first day of term would begin, and – whatever he might say on the matter – Severus Snape was lying.


	11. Here We Go Again

Sure enough, the next morning dawned foggy and close: one of those days where it's far too muggy to stay in bed but far too cloying to get up and do anything.

Unusually, Remus was the first to succumb to the need to stretch his limbs; he threw open the curtains and hauled the window open, in an attempt to let in some cooler air. This was largely unsuccessful.

He hummed at the sight that greeted him – Hogwarts' grounds were always a spectacular sight to wake up to, and today looked like being particularly atmospheric.

"Mmm?"

"Severus was right about the storms – the sky's actually dark purple."

"Really?" Amelia joined him at the window. "Ooh."

Dark and moody storm clouds had encircled the nearby mountains with the apparent intention of laying siege to the castle.

"I'm glad I'm not on the train today," Amelia remarked, gazing out into the impending weather. "I hope Hermione and the others don't get too wet on the way in – Flich will have a field day. Just think of all the muddy floors."

But Remus had no intention of turning his thoughts towards Argus Filch and his mop, particularly not with his arm snaked about the waist of his magnificently dishevelled fiancée. All that talk of rain had given him an idea.

"What – where are we –" Amelia sputtered as Remus pulled her towards the bathroom.

"I need a shower," he said, shooting her a rakish grin.

"Erm –"

"You also need a shower."

"But –" Remus cast her a predatory look. "Oh, I see," she laughed, "multi-tasking."

0o0

As it was, they were only ten minutes late for breakfast – and they weren't the last to appear. Professors Vector and Sinistra were apparently taking advantage of their last day of comparative freedom and were determinedly sleeping in.

Chatter was excited, everyone looking forward to the new term. Even Severus had relented a little and was wearing a slight smile as Filius related one of his summer adventures. Amelia couldn't help but notice that it wavered momentarily as he caught sight of them.

After a thoroughly enjoyable breakfast, Amelia took the opportunity to organise some flying lessons with Madame Hooch – despite what Hermione, Remus and Severus had to say on the subject, she rather felt she was missing out on this particular wizarding pastime.

Remus watched her go, the majority of the staff wending their separate ways to make last-minute preparations for the oncoming throng.

Remus spent his day idly tidying those bits of his office that would soon contain homework assignments and several live pixies for his third-year class.

While he understood Dumbledore's reasons for bringing Alastor Moody out of retirement, he couldn't help but feel a little marginalised.

_At least I can be sure that Mad-Eye knows his stuff,_ he mused, thumbing through a book of defensive spells. He'd probably scare his students silly, which would be a good start in terms of preparing them for the darker side of the outside world. He'd got on rather well with the man during his stint in the Order of the Phoenix during the last war, and had rather been looking forward to seeing him again, so it was with some disappointment that he heard Dumbledore's announcement that Moody wouldn't be joining them until later on.

He said as much to Amelia as they sat in the greenhouses that afternoon, watching Poppy and Pomona play cribbage and listening to the roar of the rain pounding the glass roof.

"Really?" said Amelia, surprised. "He seemed a little…"

"Abrupt? Prickly?"

"Bat-shit crazy," Amelia finished; the others snorted. "Quite apart from introducing himself to his new colleagues by interrogating them –" this was still something of a sore point for her – "but Irma told me that he's late today because a cat got into his back garden and his dustbins attacked it. I mean, who charms their dustbins to attack cats?"

"Someone who has spent a good deal of his life putting Death Eaters and the like in Azkaban," said Remus, reasonably. "He's lost an arm and a leg to them – well, an arm and an eye, at any rate – so it's no wonder he's careful."

"Sounds more like he's paranoid to me," Amelia grumbled.

"All I'm saying is he has reason to be," Remus pointed out, with a sigh. Someone as optimistic as Amelia would always find it difficult to appreciate the atmosphere of the war.

"Bollocks," said Pomona loudly, as Poppy cackled triumphantly and started gathering in the cards. "Sorry chaps," she said, not looking the least bit contrite. "Why so glum, Remus? Not still thinking of doing a bunk on young Amelia here, are you?"

Three pairs of eyes rolled skywards.

"No, I was trying to explain why Moody isn't being paranoid."

"You mean this rabid dustbin affair?"

Amelia snorted, and Pomona grinned at her.

"Yes, well, I can see where you're coming from Amelia – and it's a damned good thing Arthur Weasley went down and smoothed things over, or he'd not be joining us at all… But Alastor's learned from experience not to trust anyone, and to be careful." Pomona peered at Amelia over her slightly pudgy nose. "Something you might want to emulate, if Minerva's to be believed."

Amelia squirmed a little as two pairs of interested and slightly suspicious eyes turned on her; she became suddenly quite engrossed by the plant next to her, which appeared to be eating a sandwich.

"Minerva says," said Pomona, in the manner of someone who knows she has stumbled upon something juicy, "that Dumbledore received a formal complaint about Miss Muggle Studies here, from one Barty Crouch, Head of International Relations."

Amelia attempted to will herself invisible as Pomona continued. "Apparently she accused him of a variety of colourful offences at the World Cup, including negligence and malpractice while he was in office at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Gosh," said Poppy, stunned.

"Amelia!" Remus snapped, exasperated. "I know he threatened your friends but _honestly_! A formal complaint from Crouch is a very serious thing! Why didn't you tell me?"

Feeling suddenly like a naughty student, Amelia bridled, glaring back at him.

"I didn't accuse him of anything he didn't do," she retorted. "And since he spent his evening levelling threats and accusations at every second person he saw he can have no possible cause for reproach."

"Did he?" asked Poppy, interested.

"Yes, including my cousin, Ron Weasley and the Boy-Who-Lived of all people, for casting the giant skull thing."

Pomona said something that sounded a lot like '_What a pillock,'_ but Remus cut across her.

"Even if he was making an ass of himself, that's no reason to follow suit!" he admonished angrily. "Barty Crouch is a very powerful man and therefore dangerous to offend. If you can't control your behaviour –"

"Control my _behaviour_?" Amelia demanded, eyes wide. "I'm not one of your students, Remus, you can't just put me in detention because you don't like the way I act!"

By this point it had become plain to Poppy and Pomona that their colleagues had completely forgotten that they were present.

Mindful of their privacy, Poppy leaned over to Pomona: "I think, perhaps, we should leave them to it," she whispered.

"I don't," said Pomona, amused. "I think we should stay and take sides."

They watched Remus go an unattractive shade of scarlet at Amelia's last comment.

"Amelia, you just can't take risks like that! You have no idea what that man can do to us – and he _will_ if you can't learn to control yourself!"

"I can assure you that at no point in the evening was I in any danger of losing control," she insisted. "You'd have let him steal the girls' memories, would you? Let him haul Sirius back off to Azkaban for no good reason but his own spite? Because that's what he was after –"

"You have no right to speak to me like that!" Remus spat, almost shouting now. "You know full well that I would have defended them all, but I wouldn't have acted like a petulant child!" Amelia's eyebrows shot north. "Sometimes you have to be the example when other people act like infants, rather than joining in – and until you learn that, youn-"

He stopped himself, a little too late.

"If the next two words out of your mouth were going to be _'young lady'_, then you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight," said Amelia, coldly.

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Pomona winced at Poppy, who shook her head in annoyance.

_Stay and take sides, indeed!_ she thought.

"Mel, I didn't mean –"

"Yes, you did. I'm only four years younger than you, Remus, I won't be treated like a child."

Since it seemed that this was going to go on for some time, Poppy decided to intercede.

"That's quite enough, you two."

Remus and Amelia both jumped, remembered where they were and who they were with, and both turned matching shades of crimson.

"I'm sure that Remus didn't mean to imply that you were a child, Amelia, and he's very sorry, aren't you Remus?"

The mortified wizard nodded numbly.

"And while we all agree that Barty Crouch is a prize fool for his behaviour, you shouldn't have provoked him, Amelia."

"We're not saying we wouldn't have done the same," Pomona chipped in, placatingly. "But he's a dangerous man to annoy in your situation, as Remus is all too aware."

It was perhaps unfortunate that the weather took this opportunity to make itself felt with a great crack of thunder that rattled the panes of glass all around them, since the resultant recovery period gave Amelia the opportunity to consider the last statement.

"What situation?"

"Er –" said Remus quickly. "Like Severus said, you're new to our world –"

"No, that's not it," said Pomona dismissively. "It's because she's marrying _you_."

Remus closed his eyes.

"Pardon?" said Amelia, watching his face carefully.

"Crouch was responsible for most of the big anti-werewolf legislation in his time in law enforcement," Pomona explained. "Most of the laws have been repealed, of course, but –"

"Most of them?" Amelia asked unhappily.

"I'd have thought Remus would have told you," said Pomona bluntly.

"So would I," said Amelia; Remus avoided her eyes.

"_I_ wouldn't," said Poppy suddenly. "Most of them _have_ been repealed, as you said, and if I were Remus I wouldn't want you to worry. I also wouldn't want to tell you because however noble your intentions you do tend to shout at people if they're being idiotic – however much they deserve it."

Chastened, Amelia stayed quiet and fixed her gaze on Remus, whose turn it was to be engrossed in the sandwich-eating plant. There was a lengthy and uncomfortable pause, and Amelia had been about to apologise when there was a knock on the greenhouse door.

"Sorry to interrupt –" Filius took in the various levels of discomfort about the room. "Though perhaps not, as it happens… Pomona, the heads of houses are meeting – Peeves is making a fuss about not being invited to the feast again. The Bloody Baron's called a Ghost's Council – we're required to attend."

Pomona heaved a sigh – though Amelia wasn't sure if it was one of relief or disappointment, and got to her feet.

"I'd better do a last minute supply check," said Poppy, with grace. "All those start of term bugs and colds – honestly, I sometimes think the parents are waging controlled germ-warfare on us."

"You two behave yourselves," instructed Pomona as she piloted her diminutive friend out of the room.

Amelia listened to their diminishing footfalls for a moment; she absently fiddled with her sleeve.

"If I'd known," she began, but Remus shook his head. He was standing with his back to her, watching the rain forming rivulets down the sides of the greenhouse.

"I should have told you."

"I should have asked," said Amelia softly, joining him by the potting bench. "Which ones are still in force?"

"Just one," he sighed, "which is why I didn't tell you – it needn't have come up. Basically it means that if I'm refused employment or sacked by some employer because of… because of what I am, I'm not entitled to seek recourse."

As angry as this simple statement made her, Amelia stayed silent. She'd never been very good at keeping her mouth shut around idiocy, but if that meant Remus couldn't trust her enough to tell her about problems like Barty Crouch then that would have to change.

She laid a gentle hand on his back.

"I'm sorry I shouted. I shouldn't have said those things," he said. "I didn't mean them." He glanced sideways at her and she nodded.

"If I'd known, I'd never have gone after Crouch like that – I'd still have defended the girls and Sirius, but –"

"I know."

She looped her arm around his and he rested his head against her. They were quiet again for a time, just watching the rain.

0o0o0o0

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were soon to be packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils.

Chatting comfortably with Remus and Severus, Amelia remembered the previous September, when she had been so nervous at her first ever welcome feast. She smiled slightly. The teachers were all milling around in a happily disorganised throng. The buzz of excitement had started when Hagrid had set off to welcome the first years in a time honoured Hogwarts tradition that apparently ignored torrential rain.

Amelia hadn't, as yet, taken the boat ride across the Black Lake despite Hagrid's exuberant offers to arrange it, and she was profoundly glad that she was nowhere near it tonight.

The ceiling of the Great Hall – enchanted to reflect the changing moods of the sky outside – was alive with boiling clouds and great forks of lightning. As the first bedraggled students filed in, Amelia loitered around the doors trying to spot her cousin and her friends among the drenched witches and wizards.

Finally she saw them dash though the great front doors along with their friend, Neville Longbottom. A fellow Gryffindor, Neville was a round faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable grandmother. Amelia, who felt that all Neville really needed was a little more confidence, liked him immensely.

She watched Ron turn to say something to Harry (probably something rude, knowing Ron), when the red-haired boy gave a shout of surprise.

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head, and exploded. Drenched and spluttering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped – narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet. People all around them shrieked and started pushing each other in their efforts to get out of the line of fire.

Amelia looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above the angry students, Peeves the poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

Minerva rushed past her and down the stairs, skidding on the wet floor and nearly taking Hermione out in the process. She shouted angrily up at the spectre.

Amelia didn't wait to find out the result. She loitered over by the Gryffindor table to chat with some of her sixth years until Hermione and her friends reappeared. As they passed her she muttered a couple of drying spells over the four of them; they looked up in surprise.

"Thanks Miss!" said Neville gratefully.

"No problem," she dug in her pocket for a hair bobble and handed it to Hermione, whose hair didn't take kindly to drying spells, and wove her way through the students back up to her place at the High Table.

Given the usual game of chair-swapping employed by the staff (with the exception of Dumbledore, who was always seated at the centre) it was often pot-luck who was seated with whom. Tonight Amelia was between Severus and Remus, which would ordinarily have represented an entertaining evening – as both wizards were in a bit of a mood Amelia took her place with considerably less enthusiasm than usual.

She gave Hermione an innocent shrug across the room as her cousin nodded towards Moody's empty chair. Hermione shot her a withering look and Amelia smiled beatifically. She and her friends couldn't have failed to notice the air of anticipation amongst the staff – everyone was wearing their best robes tonight, even Argus Filch (though his idea of 'best' left something to be desired). Amelia glanced along the table.

Filius Flitwick was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Pomona Sprout, whose hat was already askew over her flyaway hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. Next were Remus and herself, then Severus. On Severus's other side, Minerva would soon be taking her seat – once the sorting was over with. Next to her, Dumbledore sat resplendent in his magnificent deep-green robes, his sweeping silver hair shining in the candlelight.

The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought.

Abruptly, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and silence fell. Minerva was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the hall. If Hermione and her friends had looked wet it was nothing to how these bedraggled bunch of eleven year-olds looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in front of the school. All except the smallest of them, a boy with mousey hair, who was wrapped in what had to be Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. It was so big for him that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black marquee. His small head protruded from over the top of it; he was practically radiating painful excitement.

"A Creevey, do we think?" Severus murmured in her ear, and Amelia muffled a laugh. He was probably right.

Minerva now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first-years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first-years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat broke into song.

Amelia toyed with her robes under the table, not really listening to the hat. It wasn't that she didn't respect the august traditions of her school, but the mad, crusty old thing wrote terrible poetry.

She watched the sorting with a similar amount of interest; since she wasn't a head of house it didn't matter much to her where the students were placed. She wouldn't be seeing any of them in class for another three years anyway. Instead she reached out with her mind and tasted the variety of excitement, terror, amusement and boredom emanating from the hall's other occupants.

Sorting concluded she applauded politely with the rest, for the show of the thing. There wasn't much point sharing her criticism with the staff and students, most of whom seemed enthralled – and the Hat probably knew anyway.

Several students, clearly famished after their long and moist journey, seized their knives and forks and looked at their plates expectantly.

Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "_Tuck in_."

A few of the students bellowed "Hear, hear!" and Amelia, whose own stomach was rumbling its annoyance, rather had to agree.

Since Remus had engaged Professor Sinistra in a lively discussion about the merits of various telescopes, Amelia turned to Severus and said, mouth full.

" 's good, this. Beatsh the crap we ushed to get at school."

"Classy," he remarked. It was plain to Amelia that he was still struggling to talk to her – or even make prolonged eye-contact – and he continued with effort. "There nearly wasn't a feast at all, you know. There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Not the e-" Amelia paused, finding speaking through a lump of steak a bit of a struggle. "That's better. The elves didn't kick up a fuss, did they?"

"No, nothing like that… Where _did_ you learn your table manners, the local gutters?"

His eyes sparkled with amusement, much to Amelia's delight. She was beginning to think his recent grumpiness would be permanent. Just in time, she remembered her position at the top table and refrained from sticking her tongue out at him. She settled for a gentle punch to the arm instead.

"Well, learn to chew your food," he retorted. "It was Peeves again. The usual argument – wanted to attend the feast. I'm sure you can imagine how that would go."

Amelia could, and she grinned at the mental image.

"So the ghosts held a Council, which we had to sit in on – bloody waste of time, if you ask me – and the Bloody Baron forbade him to come. I'm not sure it was a good thing in the long term," he said, helping himself to more roast potatoes. "He'll be making a real nuisance of himself for _months_."

"Well, yes," Amelia conceded. "But he's always a nuisance, and at least this way we aren't picking broccoli out of our hair."

"True."

This being the most she had got out of him in days she would have pursued the conversation further had her internal something's-wrong-with-Hermione alarm not gone off. She glanced along the Gryffindor table: Hermione appeared to be refusing to eat, which appeared to be making both Nearly Headless Nick and Ron Weasley deeply uncomfortable. Nick's head would periodically swing out of his ruff, terrifying nearby first-years. She watched Ron – whose incomprehension at anyone refusing food was palpable even from here – trying to coax her cousin eat all the way through the main course and most of the way through pudding.

When puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four-hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched; Amelia took a sip of wine to prevent her own smile from becoming too obvious.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Amelia grinned: all across the Hall, members of the House Quidditch teams were staring at one another in horror. Fred and George Weasley were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.

Dumbledore continued, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, and began to walk up towards the teachers' table.

"Now that's an entrance," Amelia muttered as Mad-Eye Moody clunked towards them, every eye in the Hall following his progress. He reached the end of the top table, turned right and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling.

Mad-Eye shook Dumbledore's hand as the whispers started up around them like the wind, rising in volume to rival the weather outside. They shared a brief, whispered conversation and Moody gave the staff table an appraising look, taking his seat between Professors Vector and Dockrill. He pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue one was darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

Amelia reflected that that particular quirk was probably going to take a while for her to get used to.

"May I introduce our new colleague, Professor Moody," said Dumbledore brightly, over the whispers. "He will be sharing the teaching load for Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin this year."

Several people turned to stare at Remus and the whispering went up a notch. Remus tried his best to look politely interested and forced a smile; Amelia took his hand underneath the table and gave it a squeeze.

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore, Hagrid and Lupin. All three put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence; Amelia belatedly joined in, for the sake of form, but they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him – or, like Severus, who had coalesced into an icy presence beside her, they disliked the man intensely.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome, which impressed Amelia a little. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flask, and took along draught from it.

Dumbledore, who was used to such idiosyncrasies amongst his staff, cleared his throat again.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, most of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley, loudly; Amelia smiled fondly at the boy's complete lack of tact.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke.

Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr Weasley," he said, "Though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar –"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly and Amelia snorted; beside her Remus was also sniggering, but Severus seemed to be so invested in his dislike of Moody that he was glaring out at the Hall, arms folded. Amelia kicked his shin and he grimaced.

"Er – but maybe this is not the time… no…" said Dumbledore. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will know that this Tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition…"

Amelia let her mind wander freely, thinking unhappily about the attitudes to death and injury in British society in the fourteenth century. A 'friendly' game then would often result in death or maiming, and to play it with children…

"- until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued."

_With good reason_, Amelia thought, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Remus gave her hand a squeeze under the table.

She listened restively to Dumbledore's assurances about safety – knowing what was coming made it difficult to feel enthusiastic about the competition, even if the student body was now tripping over itself to find ways of defying the age restrictions and getting their hands on the prize money.

At every table, Amelia could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or glaring at their teachers for restricting the contest; many of them were whispering fervently to their neighbours.

She bit her lip: they were _all_ too young for this.

Abruptly, she felt Remus get to his feet – all across the Hall people were making a move; she followed him, still deep in thought. The level of excited conversation went up a notch as they passed into the Entrance Hall; everywhere she looked students were chattering in various stages of excitement and outrage about the upcoming Tournament. Amelia knew that the majority of her colleagues were equally excited, but she just couldn't bring herself to match them. She couldn't place it, but something just felt wrong about the whole thing.

Drifting away from the others, she stood to one side of the Great Staircase as the great flood of students rumbled past, willing herself to cheer up. Distantly, she saw Neville Longbottom sink right through one of the trick steps halfway up the staircase above her. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily. Ron banged its visor as he passed it.

She sighed. Even if they were of age, she wouldn't want any of her students competing, it was just too dangerous.

_And they're so _young, she thought again, and shook her head.

There would have been a time when she would have jumped at the chance herself, but now… perhaps this was what growing up felt like…


	12. The Problem with Peppermint

Amelia followed the disorganised and slowly moving trail of giggly teachers along the winding corridors towards Dumbledore's office.

It seemed suddenly that an enormous amount of time had passed since she had first made this journey, exactly one year previously.

Poppy, as bubbly as she had been on that occasion, took her arm.

"Are you and Remus alright again?" she asked, in an undertone.

Amelia smiled: even tipsy and relaxed, Poppy always found it in herself to care for the people around her. It was one of the things that made the majority of staff and students at Hogwarts adore the matron.

"Yep, all sorted."

"I thought so – you both just needed to get it out of your systems, that's all."

Amelia nodded.

_And we both need to communicate slightly better_, she thought. _But we'll have to see how that goes…_

Poppy wandered towards Hagrid – still dripping from crossing the rain swept Lake – to dry him out. In front of them, Remus was chatting merrily with Moody, and since Amelia didn't feel like being interrogated a second time that day she fell into step with Severus instead. He was trailing slowly behind the others, eyeing Remus and Moody with an air of extreme discomfort.

"I take it you've met Moody before," she said, taking his arm. Both reluctant to move, they slowed almost to a complete stop on the Great Staircase.

"A long time ago," he said, unhappily. "One might almost say 'in another life'."

"He seems a little overbearing," she observed.

"He is," said Severus, with feeling.

Amelia glanced at her friend, surprised to find someone amongst the staff who would criticise the man; most of the adult occupants of the Castle seemed to be in his extended fan club, which she felt must count for something. However, she trusted Severus's judgment as much as her fiancé's, and was immediately intrigued.

"Well," he conceded, aware of her scrutiny, "he was an Auror for nearly forty years, which doesn't engender a person to friendliness or trusting others. And he was single-handedly responsible for putting most of the Dark Lord's supporters into Azkaban," he continued, tone a little forced. "He was an extremely successful Auror, which means that he is dogged and unforgiving, and therefore not particularly personable."

He glanced at her, and Amelia got the distinct impression that he had been about to go on, and had thought better of it.

Privately, she wondered what he could feel the need to hide from her- she didn't think of herself as particularly dogged and unforgiving…

"Not my cup of tea, I have to say," Amelia agreed. "Remus seems to get on okay with him though, so I suppose I'll have to get used to him." The skin on the back of her neck prickled. "He's watching me, isn't he?"

Severus nodded.

"Amelia!" Remus called from the staircase above.

She gave Severus an exceptionally articulate look before squinting up at him; Severus had to turn away to hide the smirk on his face.

Remus hurried back down the stairs towards them, Moody following at a slower pace. There was something almost inexorable about him; she could well understand why he made Severus nervous. Suddenly, Amelia was aware that Severus had melted away and was having something of an involved discussion with a Portrait, several metres further down the staircase.

Remus reached her, beaming, and promptly sneezed.

"Bless you."

"Thanks," he said, shaking himself. "You remember Alastor Moody –"

"Of course," said Amelia, trying not to sound too stiff. She wondered if it would be inappropriate not to shake the man's hand – she wasn't entirely sure she wanted a look inside Mad-Eye Moody's head. Fortunately, he made no forthcoming move.

She wrinkled her nose: Moody smelled like an experimental sweet factory.

"Miss Brown," nodded Moody, magical eye firmly fixed on the centre of Severus's forehead, as if he were somehow trying to bore a hole right through him. She frowned slightly as Moody continued: "Remus tells me you are to be married."

"Yes, in the spring."

"Time was a wizard wouldn't go trusting someone he hadn't known all his life…" Amelia felt herself colour as he looked her up and down. She was about to point out that trusting someone they'd known their whole life hadn't done the Potters any good, but she caught herself, aware of her fiancé hovering beside her.

"I suppose we must be thankful times have changed," said Moody, gruffly.

"Alastor? Won't you join us?"

Perhaps Minerva had heard him; as she and Madame Pince ushered him up the marble staircase she gave Amelia what could almost be described as a warning look.

Amelia waited until Moody's magical eye was tracking something above him on the stairs before giving Remus a pointed look.

"Sorry," he winced. "He's not been around people very much, since his retirement. I think he likes you though."

"I'd hate to see how he acts around people he _doesn't _like," she muttered, and glanced over her shoulder at Severus, who was maintaining a firm distance.

"Why does he smell like the Victorian Sweetshop at Beamish?"

"Mint humbugs," said Remus, with a smile. "A habit he's picked up recently, I gather."

Up ahead, Moody pulled out a battered paper bag and thrust it in Minerva's direction; Amelia recognised the international sign language for declining something politely. She tried not to grin. Though they were still some way behind them, turning into one of Hogwarts' long, winding corridors, a particularly intense wave of peppermint washed over them.

"Cor," said Amelia, pulling a face. "You could strip paint with that!"

Just then, Remus sneezed. Then he sneezed again. By the time he'd stopped sneezing, Severus had caught up with them and their colleagues had disappeared behind a bend.

"What's this in aid of?" asked Amelia in mild alarm.

" 'm allergic to pepperm-achoo!"

"Good to know…"

"Choo!"

"How long before it stops?" she asked, unable to prevent the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Beside her, Severus's lips began to twitch.

"I don –achoo! I dunno," Remus said, feeling a little worse for wear. "I'll be alright in a min-chhoo! Stop smiling!"

Amelia couldn't help it. All the tension of the evening – what with Moody and the Triwizard Tournament – built up abruptly and she let out a great peal of laughter. She stifled it quickly on Remus's glare. Severus snorted.

"I'm sorry, I know it sucks," she said, with some sympathy. "But it's just –"

"A-aa-achoo!"

Amelia completely broke down, supporting herself on Severus, who was also shaking with laughter.

"It's not funny!" Remus snapped, hotly. He glared at them, red-eyed and trying to get his breathing under control, but it was no use: before long his expression softened and he, too, began to laugh.

By the time Argus Filch came back to find them, they were all three sitting on the stone floor of the corridor, struggling to regain their composure. Of course, one look at his expression set them all off again, much to Filch's annoyance. He stood there glowering at them, much to the amusement of several of the school portraits who – sensing a free show – had begun to congregate.

"S-sorry Argus," Severus managed, in mild embarrassment. "We'll be along now."

He climbed to his feet and dusted his robes off as Remus and Amelia helped each other up.

"Remus had a reaction to Moody's minty death sweets," said Amelia, by way of an explanation.

Filch's expression didn't alter from its habitual grimace and he hobbled swiftly away.

"M-minty death sweets?" Remus asked in an undertone; they all snorted, in danger of losing it again.

They hurried along behind the gruff caretaker, readjusting their clothing and feeling very much like the naughty schoolchildren they generally taught, arriving at the great stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's study in some semblance of order.

"'Cockroach Cluster'," Filch grunted, and they shuffled through the door behind him, turning a little pink as the eyes of all the staff swivelled over to them.

"Sorry," Amelia mumbled, aware that she was still one misplaced comment away from a second round of helpless giggling.

"Now we are _all_ present," Dumbledore began, eyes twinkling, "we shall get on. Allow me to extend a warm welcome to Alastor, once again, who will be assisting Remus this year in the instruction of self-defence, curses and anti-dark mage defences. He will also be supporting the security measures for the Triwizard Tournament."

Several people made noises of approval. Security was certainly one of Mad-Eye's specialities.

"As usual, Argus has a few announcements…"

The meeting progressed in much the usual manner: announcements were made, timetables were hauled out, people grumbled about their pet hates and extra-curricular activities were managed.

Amelia found herself offering to assist Filius with the school choir in the upcoming year, on top of organising weekly film showings. Ostensibly, this was to encourage Muggle awareness, but their success usually depended on a large element of fascination from the non-cinema attending witches and wizards. Remus – perhaps embarrassed that he had a lot less to do than usual – volunteered to take on a significant amount of second marking and assist Filius in class demonstrations. They were expecting a rather large intake of students in the upper years this term, after all, and it was something that he was particularly good at.

It was quite a while later that the staff began to trickle out of Dumbledore's office and towards their rooms.

Amelia wandered after a red-faced and leery Pomona, on the basis that she could keep her friend in sight and out of trouble most of the way to the Greenhouses from the Transfiguration Courtyard.

Sheltering from the insistent rain under one of the colonnades that lined the edge of the Courtyard, she watched her amiable friend weave her way through the patches of Venemous Tentacula, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was getting soaked to the skin.

Among the waving fronds of mature ivy Amelia was pretty well hidden, and so it was that when Severus exited the passageway from Dumbledore's office at something of a determined pace, neither he nor his pursuer noticed her.

"You watch yourself, Snape," Moody growled, clunking rapidly after him. "Just keep in mind that I'll have a very close eye on you from now on."

Without a backwards glance, Severus disappeared into the school proper. Amelia could hear Moody sniggering.

She frowned. What could Moody possibly have against her friend? Severus had something of a dour reputation, she knew, and had – until quite recently – thoroughly enjoyed bullying the majority of his students, but surely Moody was too old to have ever been one of them… Perhaps he had known a hapless potion-brewer – a relative. Yes, that could be it. She resolved to ask Remus, later on.

"You could be nicer to him," said Remus, emerging from the shadows. He seemed to have followed the pair of them down from the office and was frowning deeply.

"You know as well as I do what he is, Remus," Moody grunted, rounding on him. "I'm surprised you're even speaking to him, let alone defending him."

Stunned, Amelia stayed rooted to the spot. What _had_ Severus done? And why hadn't Remus told her about it?

"I would have agreed with you once," said Remus, quietly.

"Before you met that lass?" Moody asked, shrewdly.

"No," said Remus. "A long time ago. Sometimes, Moody, you just have to learn to forgive." There was a sharpness to his tone that Amelia didn't often hear. She smiled slightly. "Besides: he's changed."

"Nobody changes _that _much."

"I've watched it happen," Remus insisted. "I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't."

There was a pause; Moody appeared to be subjecting Remus to some close scrutiny.

"He's not the only one who's changed, if you're to be believed," he grunted. "There was a time where you would have hexed him on sight."

"We're not those people any more. The world moves on, Moody."

"Who am I to question the lofty mind of a Hogwarts professor?" Moody groused, but Amelia could hear the hint of a chuckle in his voice. She wondered briefly what he thought was funny. "_You _said you'd never come back here," the gnarly old wizard continued. "And now look at you – teaching, happy, engaged to a very pretty witch…"

Amelia blushed at the unexpected compliment – and then wondered whether, in Moody's mind, it was anything of the sort.

"Your point being?" Remus asked, and this time his tone was a little guarded.

"I know you, Remus. I know what you thought your life would be after Hogwarts, being what you are – and how insistent you always were to put the horror of your condition before your own happiness." Moody paused, assessing his younger colleague. "This new, less exhausted you is a good thing."

Amelia raised her eyebrows. This was also unexpected.

"Well… I suppose I got older… learned to ignore people and get my priorities in order…" he, too, sounded surprised at the comment. Cautious. "A lot of it has to do with Amelia," he continued, and the corners of her mouth responded to the smile she could hear creep into his voice. He went on, caution forgotten: "I did _try_ not to fall in love with her, you know – keep her from having to walk out with an old outcast like me, but she was much too stubborn."

Moody chuckled, and Amelia smiled to herself, feeling rather loved.

"She sounds like quite the witch."

"She is," said Remus, firmly. "And I don't think she likes you very much."

Behind the alcove, Amelia closed her eyes. She may have to kill him when she got him alone.

"Then she's very sensible, laddie," Moody yawned. "Perhaps you should go and tuck her in."

Amelia knew without looking that Remus's current expression would have had her roaring with laughter. She bit her lip.

"It's been a hell of a day," Moody grunted. "What with errant dustbins and Argus-bloody-Filch – tried to search my luggage after dinner, nosy little runt…"

Their conversation continued in this way as the two men walked towards the Castle proper, their voices dwindling in the rain.

Back in her alcove, Amelia leaned thoughtfully against the cool stone.

_So…_ she thought. _Mad-Eye Moody approves of me, does he?_

She considered this as she set off in the direction of the secret passage behind the large potted fern outside the entrance to greenhouse four – with any luck she'd make it back before Remus did and wouldn't be forced to admit her eavesdropping.

On reflection, she wasn't sure if Moody's approval was a good thing.

0o0o0o0

Amelia lay awake for some time that evening, listening to the storm raging in the mountains outside and the comforting rumble of Remus's soft snores.

It is always a pleasant thing to listen to the howling gale rattling the window frames and the percussion of raindrops on glass if you are safely tucked up in a warm bed, the embers of a fire glowing gently in the grate.

She knew she shouldn't indulge in this for too long, since she had an early start in the morning, but every time she got close to falling asleep a tiny prickle of disquiet crept into her otherwise relaxed mind.

Part of it was in response to whatever it was that had so thoroughly ticked Hermione off, and Amelia felt no compunction about ignoring this until her cousin decided to tell her about it, as she doubtless would in due course. If there had been reason for alarm, she knew Hermione would have come to her – or at least be more afraid than angry.

Another part must be her concern for Severus, both in response to Moody's proximity and to his recent discomfort around her own person. There had been something disquieting about the way Moody and Remus had talked about his past, too.

She sighed and rolled onto her back, gazing at the cloth of the four poster bed.

She could count on one hand the things that could make Remus hate someone as much as he had apparently hated Severus, and none of them would make for pleasant conversation.

No, she decided, that particularly conundrum should probably be left alone for the time being. After all – Remus had clearly forgiven him, and hadn't Severus made it perfectly clear (admittedly mostly through body language) that he didn't want to discuss it, whatever it was?

Amelia frowned at herself.

One of her flaws was an inability to leave something alone until she'd figured it out, and she knew very well that this would annoy her until she found out what was going on with her taciturn friend. For Severus's sake, she would have to stop herself prying… even if it meant that things continued to be a little strained for a while.

She rubbed her nose, speculatively.

There was something else bothering her. Some indistinct little thing, niggling away at the very edge of her brain.

The feeling had stolen upon her as she had dodged the puddles around Pomona's greenhouses, and stayed with her as she and Remus had got ready for bed. Try as she might, she could neither shake the feeling nor pinpoint its source.

It was really beginning to grate.

Giving it up as a lost cause for the twentieth time that night, she rolled over again, trying to find a more sleep-inducing position.

Carefully, she emptied her mind as she's learned to do when things had been a bit too much at University. She had just hit the point where dozing became proper unconsciousness when her eyes flew open once more.

What _was_ going on?

She huffed into her pillow, frustrated. She was about to get out of bed – reasoning that if she couldn't sleep she could at least get something useful done – when a mostly asleep Remus mumbled something indistinct about jellybeans, rolled onto his side and pulled Amelia closer.

Trapped, she briefly considered trying to summon her book but quickly thrust the thought aside. Remus had an early start too, and both of them grumpy wouldn't be a good way to begin the new term. Instead, she shifted, snuggling into his chest.

Wrapped in his warm embrace she drifted contentedly to sleep, all thoughts of the unquiet thing at the edge of her mind forgotten.


End file.
